Why

Li Huowang sat on his bed for several hours. In the end, he let out a long breath and finally calmed down completely.

Qian Fu was dead. He had known him the longest, and Li Huowang regretted his death deeply. But the dead could not return to life. There was no use thinking about him anymore.

What mattered more now was that Qian Fu's death had exposed some of Qing Wanglai's problems.

Li Huowang had always thought that Qing Wanglai had nothing wrong with him apart from being somewhat self-righteous and stubbornly believing all his own ideas were correct. But clearly, he had been wrong.

There was something very wrong with Qing Wanglai—terribly wrong. The most troubling thing was his emotions.

Faced with someone's death, even the death of an acquaintance, there had not been a shred of concern in his heart.

Qian Fu's death had not even been as important as the helmet Li Huowang had thrown onto the ground.

Li Huowang had never seen anyone like that in a mental hospital before. He had no idea what illness Qing Wanglai had.

Thinking back on it now, perhaps Qing Wanglai was the one whose projection had been more thorough. The one most like a Fate Master.

Someone without any emotional fluctuations would never act on impulse. If selling Li Huowang could earn him greater benefits, he would probably do it without the slightest hesitation.

And when it came to companions without value, he would abandon them outright. Cooperating with someone like that was no different from seeking a tiger's hide.

Li Huowang immediately recalled what Ba Nanxu had said before. If he had previously doubted more than he believed, then now he believed more than half of it.

But as he thought of this, a question lay before Li