The cat, covered in wounds, was very attached to Han Fei, indirectly suggesting that Han Fei might indeed be the real owner of that underground room.
Memory had faded, but the pet that had once shared the room still remembered Han Fei's scent; he was still the same, unchanged.
"It's a pity that cats can't talk and cannot tell me what happened in the past."
As he petted the cat's head, Han Fei said, "If you were indeed a cat raised by a murderer, then you must have grown up drinking human blood and eating human flesh, an Evil Beast, and you probably wouldn't look so ugly, cute, and frail."
It seemed as though the cat understood Han Fei's words. It bared its teeth and then lay on its side next to Han Fei's legs, as if that fierce expression had exhausted all its energy.
"Astoundingly weak."
Han Fei no longer hoped to get any information from the cat, but the cat was still giving it its all in performing for him.
