Zheng Qing counted very clearly.
Thomas had drawn a total of three bags of blood from him, cut away two pieces of skin slightly larger than fingernails, and carved out three chunks of flesh—one bag of blood and one chunk of flesh had been handed directly to Nikita.
Based on Zheng Qing's physical condition a year ago, he would have gone into shock after losing those three bags of blood.
But now, he merely felt a little dizzy, his breathing weak, and his body devoid of strength, while his mind remained remarkably clear. So when Thomas cut the third piece of flesh from his butt, he still had enough energy to make a joke.
"Good thing I'm not Irish."
The young teaching assistant groaned weakly.
"How so?" The owner of the laboratory thoughtfully played along.
Zheng Qing drew in small breaths of cold air, feeling the throbbing pain from his butt as he tried to distract himself. "Because the Irish are poor and stingy. They say their real estate consists of milk and their asses. If I were Irish, with you taking so much of my real estate, I'd have exploded with rage already... Meat from someone with a bad temper turns sour. It might affect your experimental results."
"A very interesting deduction... Are you hoping I'll say thank you?"
Thomas deftly handled the raw materials in the tray. He seemed about to say something else when a tremendous knock suddenly rang out. Zheng Qing felt as though the entire room had jumped from the impact.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Judging from the sound alone, it was as though a crazed troll stood outside the door.
"Run!"
The young wizard lying on the experimental table shouted in alarm, trying to scare them. "It must be the school's wizards coming for me!