"Give me... one too..."
Smelling the cigarette smoke, Sun Wen turned toward Zhao Zicheng and gave a weak smile.
"You know how to smoke?"
Zhao Zicheng curled his lip.
Sun Wen shook his head slightly. "No..."
"Then what the hell are you smoking for?"
"Your heart's still bleeding, and you're in the mood for a smoke?"
"Really worried you're not dying fast enough, huh?"
Zhao Zicheng still sounded irritated as he glared at Sun Wen.
Sun Wen kept smiling. "I... I should at least... give it a try. I'm dying anyway. Why care about a few more minutes of life? Besides... you... you don't know how either, do you?"
As he spoke, Sun Wen slowly reached out, "snatched" the cigarette pack from Zhao Zicheng's hand, and lit one.
"It's not like the novels describe. Smoking one doesn't relieve your stress..."
"Sure enough, most writing in this world mixes the author's own idealizations into a foundation of reality."
Sun Wen's smile turned somewhat bitter, and he casually tossed the cigarette onto the ground.
"I think... I think I know why Yu Sheng still... still hasn't come..."
"Maybe Yu Sheng thinks that if he tries hard enough, there's still... still a way to save me from my injuries."
A glimmer of realization flashed through Sun Wen's eyes.
"Looks like I won't even live another five hours..."
Sun Wen murmured softly.
Listening to Sun Wen, Zhao Zicheng stiffened. As though he had realized something, he abruptly stood up, but an immense surge of spiritual energy in the air held him in place. He could only watch helplessly as Sun Wen raised his hand again and, facing the camera, slammed his palm into his own chest.
The dagger shot out and embedded itself in the wall.
A cloud of blood burst from Sun Wen's