It turned out that when someone hit a nerve, even a two-hundred-year-old skeleton could fly into a rage out of sheer embarrassment. Shen Tang's words had struck Wei Cheng's sore spot—quickly, ruthlessly, and precisely. He whipped around, the flames in his eye sockets surging straight up as his anger reached its peak.
Shen Tang gave an awkward, sheepish laugh. "Did I guess wrong?"
Wei Cheng: "..."
He said nothing, but the two flames in his eye sockets burned brighter than ever.
Just as Shen Tang was secretly on guard, ready to face Wei Cheng's sudden killing blow, he said in a chilling tone, "You guessed right."
Shen Tang: "...6."
If she'd guessed right, then she'd guessed right. What was with the theatrics?
Wei Cheng didn't know what "6" meant, but he figured Shen Youli couldn't spit out anything decent, so she was probably mocking him. "Don't think that just because I haven't attacked, it means I'm showing you goodwill. My falling out with my uncle has nothing to do with whether I want you dead. We're deep underground here. If the place collapses, even with your talents, you won't get out alive. Understand?"
Wei Cheng was a skeleton and didn't need to breathe. Shen Tang and Gongxi Chou were living people, and Martial Gall Warriors needed far more air than ordinary people. If they really got trapped this deep underground, they could suffocate to death.
Shen Tang pointed to her own nose.
"To be honest, I cultivate both the literary and martial paths."
At this depth, a Martial Gall Warrior couldn't break through before the oxygen ran out. But she was also a Literary Scholar, and could certainly cast a Word Spirit like [Steal the Peach] before she kicked the bucket. She'd already left a marker before she and Gongxi