Lian Cheng let out a cold laugh.
There was a condition in this world called having a hard mouth.
Some people, even with a green plum spirit in their mouths, an acupressure board strapped to their chests, a two-hundred-pound Big Sister stepping on their backs, fascia knives working over both legs, and labor-simulation electrodes on their stomachs cranked up to maximum output... even when they were already barely breathing and on the verge of death, would still raise their heads, widen their eyes, and ask with a soul-searching question:
"Didn't you eat?!"
Even if the present world exploded, Superior Virtue and the Nine Evils vanished, and the universe was destroyed, that mouth of his—harder than a duck's—would still drift through the infinite void, chattering without end.
Heh heh, putting on a brave front, playing pretend... did he think that would help?!
The real torment was yet to come!
Lian Cheng looked down at him disdainfully, glanced once, then could not help himself... another glance, and another. He widened his eyes, leaned closer, and took several more looks.
He studied that smiling face that made one want to tear it to shreds.
From beginning to end, it had not changed in the slightest.
He was faking it!
He was fucking faking it, absolutely!
But looking at him...
Lian Cheng exhausted every means of observation at his disposal, only to discover in despair—he really did not look like he was faking it!
His expression, heartbeat, and muscles showed no fluctuations whatsoever. There was not the slightest sign of tension. Even his Spiritual Substance had remained utterly still from beginning to end, calm and composed.
It was as though he were lying down and listening to storytelling ballads, maybe even about to yawn.
This was wrong!
This was impossible!
An immense sense of