"Damn it! Are these bastards like dog skin plasters?! They're never going to stop!" Lu Zhaoming had just cursed in his mind when he reflexively looked up sharply, his eyes as sharp as two laser guns, staring straight at the dark, bottomless entrance to the mine.
Sure enough, there, a blurry figure appeared like a vengeful spirit from a ghost movie, gradually becoming clearer as it went from blurry to real.
The figure seemed to be surrounded by its own air conditioning, no, it was more like the freezer effect of a funeral home. Wisps of cold air spread out, causing the temperature in the already gloomy mine to drop even further, and even the air seemed to be frozen and sticky.
Isn't that Leng Feng's unchanging deadpan face?
This guy always looks like he's been dug out of a grave for a funeral every time he shows up; he exudes a powerful aura that says, "Don't touch me, I'm not in a good mood."
The gleaming alloy longsword in his hand left a trail of afterimages in the dim light of the cave, and the sharpness of the blade made one's skin tighten even from a distance.
Leng Feng's figure appeared even more eerie under the flickering lamplight. His eyes were colder than the ancient glaciers of Antarctica. When his gaze swept over, Lu Zhaoming felt as if the hairs on the back of his neck were being electrocuted, and they all stood up and saluted.
His voice, which sounded as if he had just been pulled from an ice cellar and then soaked in liquid nitrogen for forty-nine days, was deliberate and sharp, with a metallic quality, striking the suffocating silence of the mine: "Lu Zhaoming, the game is over."
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