The southwest.
The Sikong Residence.
The rear courtyard was littered with liquor bottles.
The renowned Southwest King lay naked on the ground, vomiting while receiving an IV drip.
Beside him, a minister held up the IV bottle, several times wanting to speak up and dissuade him.
But when he saw the old man sitting in a chair with a wine jug in his arms, his cheeks slightly flushed but showing no drunkenness, he swallowed his words.
They had been drinking for seven days and seven nights.
For the first three days, the Southwest King had still been able to sit and chat with Gunman.
After three days, the guy had started vomiting nonstop.
Now, only an IV drip was barely keeping him alive.
The minister was genuinely afraid Gunman would drink Sikong Jian to death.
"Kid, you're no good at fighting, and you're useless at drinking too." Gunman let out a drunken belch, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he smiled smugly. "A disciple really can never beat his master."
"Each new generation surpasses the last." Sikong Jian pushed aside the minister beside him, snatched down the IV bottle, and poured it into his mouth.
"Boss... that's not liquor!" The minister's eyes widened in fright.
"Kid, if you can't take it anymore, go to bed." Gunman shot him an arrogant glance and said haughtily, "Fucking new generation surpassing the last? All you're doing is puking one wave after another."
"You old bastard, believe me, I could wave my hand and casually round up a few thousand men to kill you!" Sikong Jian plopped onto the ground and waved at his minister. "Go get more liquor. I'm definitely drinking him under the table until he pisses himself today!"
"Ugh."
The minister rolled his eyes at the pair, his head