The straightforward Zhao Rui wouldn't hold back in front of Sha Baichuan either. Even though it was hard to say, he still spoke, "Dead."
Just two simple words, succinct and clear, making everything apparent.
"Who killed him?" Sha Baichuan struggled to contain his boiling anger, his eyes shooting flames of revenge. At this moment, Sha Baichuan was going mad, completely mad. These four words were uttered word by word, cold as ice, yet exploding with boundless rage.
"Yang Fan!"
Perhaps he should have expected it. Sha Baichuan sneered twice, "Yang Fan, Yang Fan..." After laughing, he sat on the sofa and continued to ask, "What about the body?"
"Don't know."
"What about that garbage Shi Tou?"
"Dead."
Suddenly, Sha Baichuan looked at Zhao Rui, "How did he die?"
"Died in an Italian artillery strike."
"Alright, dead is dead." This was the only thing that could comfort Sha Baichuan. Anger was useless, and revenge was close at hand, "Where are Yang Fan and the others now?"
