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Bang!
With a thud, Chen Fan crashed onto the ground. His chest now had a gash so big and deep that he looked like a spatchcocked chicken, his bones bare for all to see.
“Cough, cough.” His primeval qi was in disarray; he had a coughing fit, spitting out blood nonstop.
Despite the severity of his injuries, his gaze retained its unyielding intensity. The light in his eyes refused to diminish, exuding a wild and scary gleam.
“Xiaofan!”
Seeing Chen Fan's miserable appearance, Qin Yao knelt weakly on the ground, hands shielding her face as tears streamed down.
“Brat, do you regret this?” Wang Fuchen said with a faint smile, looking down at Chen Fan.
Struggling to stand, Chen Fan pressed his lips together and said, “Regret? The only remorse I harbor is my own weakness. ...
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