At the entrance to 13 Mingke Street, Rasma slowly turned around from where he had stood with his back to the house.
His left eye was a pitch-black hollow;
that eye was now "hanging" in the sky.
His right eye was still in its proper place, but it brimmed with intense shock and anger.
Rasma waved both hands, roaring in a voice suppressed almost to its limit:
"You actually did this for a cat?"
Rasma was angry, very, very angry. If he could, he would have loved to smash this entire street to pieces with one punch!
There were two reasons he had stayed here for the past six months and more. One was to follow the traces Dis had left behind and try to condense his own Godhead Fragment;
the other was to help the church keep watch over this terrifying threat that could send violent tremors through the temple at any moment.
The moment Dis stirred earlier, he had rushed over, frightened into thinking something serious had happened. He had even wondered whether something had happened to that grandson of Dis's, only to find it was all for a cat!
Right now, he truly wanted to charge into the house, haul that fellow out of bed, grab his shoulders, shake him hard, and demand at the top of his lungs:
Don't you think this is going way too far?!!!
Yet the most helplessly frustrating thing about the man lying inside this house was that he never gave anyone the chance to discuss things with him.
He had already been like this when they met in their youth. Whatever he said was something he intended to do;
he seldom gazed up at the stars and spoke of ideals, because ideals beyond ordinary people's reach were, to him, like reaching