Bai Xiaochun's jaw dropped. For years now, his moments of sleeve-flicking monologue had always been one of great pride. Never before had anyone interrupted him. Eyes wide, he stared down at the green little turtle head sticking out of his bag of holding.
"Dammit, you're still in my bag of holding!?" Just as he reached his hand over to grab the turtle, the turtle rolled its eyes, stuck its head back inside, and vanished.
Bai Xiaochun was fuming with rage. The little turtle was really a disaster for him. Whenever he thought about how it had provoked that enormous golden crocodile, his head started to ache.
However, despite his simmering rage, he couldn't find the turtle no matter how he looked. Gritting his teeth, he decided to start using a new bag of holding. After switching the contents, he hurled the old one outside of the city.
