Old Daoist Mo saw that the experts lying in ambush were already itching to make a move.
Fatty Liu's gaze grew increasingly cold.
Zhao Ritian was indignant and agitated; it did not look like an act.
Long Aotian and Lu Chengwen remained silent, both wearing helpless expressions.
Old Daoist Mo panted heavily. "Steward Liu, I'm not that kind of person! I don't even know Ming Disha!"
"Yes, yes, yes, we know each other. We're in the same gang as Martial Uncle. Isn't that what you wanted to say?"
Zhao Ritian said, "I, Zhao Ritian, swear to Heaven: if I colluded with Martial Uncle to plot against Fatty Liu's Broken Chicken Neck Divine Artifact, if I lied or talked bullshit, then may lightning strike me dead; may I suffer impotence and premature ejaculation, leaving no descendants; may Senior Disciple Brother die miserably in the streets and be hacked to pieces; may Second Senior Brother die on top of a woman, drained dry..."
Fatty Liu even laughed. "Enough, enough, Brother Ritian. I believe you, I believe you."
Old Daoist Mo's eyes widened. "You actually dared to swear that!?"
"My conscience is clear! What wouldn't I dare!? Not just today—if I, Zhao Ritian, ever covet Steward Liu's whatever Divine Artifact for the rest of my life, this oath will remain valid! If it isn't mine, I won't covet it! Even if I did, I'd fight for it openly and fairly, compete for it! I wouldn't strike from behind or harbor crooked thoughts!"
Cold sweat poured down Old Daoist Mo's face.
"Then... why did you stop Steward Liu's lackeys from going to look for it!?"
"Because there's a mole! The thing could end up in a taxi—who can we trust!? If something happened, wouldn't the blame end up dumped on the heads of us