Li Kuo didn't move his chopsticks. He looked at the small flickering flames, swaying and seeming to be extinguished. He lit another cigarette and suddenly asked, "Is there no news about Cheng Weijun yet?".
Li Kuo suddenly felt that his question was very abrupt.
Jiang Rong didn't stop talking. He just changed the right hand holding the chopsticks to his left hand and said without changing his expression: "What news can there be about the dead?"
As soon as Jiang Rong finished speaking, Li Kuo threw the cigarette in his mouth to the ground, stepped on the cigarette butt with his foot, and replied sarcastically to Jiang Rong: "Oh, that's right. People who haven't had any news for more than two years may have died somewhere."
He made up his mind and looked at Jiang Rong: "Why are you not dead?"
Jiang Rongxiao: "The disaster will last for thousands of years."
Cheng Weijun had never seen Jiang Rong look like this before. Her lips trembled, her eyes were red and the tears were shining brightly in her eyes. Her whole body was trembling unconsciously because of the deliberately suppressed crying.
Cheng Weijun felt that his whole body was twitching and painful.
Jiang Rong's eyebrows turned, and her eyes changed from affectionate to stern. She quickly raised her right hand, blood dripping down the broken porcelain pieces. She shouted in a hoarse voice: "Give it back to you!" And then slid it down hard.
Cheng Weijun subconsciously raised his left arm to cover it, and felt a sharp object piercing deeply into a certain part of his left arm, and then the skin and flesh split open from top to bottom. The falling rain fell into the wound, like a catalyst for pain, making Cheng Weijun feel heart-wrenching pain.