Zixin sat on the treetop, hugging the ugly stick against his chest.
His two-thousand-stat-point stick.
His legendary, unbreakable, completely useless stick with an attack power of one.
Every time he remembered the price, his chest hurt a little.
He lifted it in front of his face and inspected it again under the strange light coming from the sky. No matter how many times he turned it around, it never magically became impressive. It was still crooked, burned in several places, and wrapped in a dirty piece of cloth that looked like it had been sitting there for hundreds of years.
"Two thousand..."
Zixin sighed and hugged it back against his chest.
Perhaps he shouldn't have gambled.
No, there was no perhaps about it. He definitely shouldn't have gambled.
If Lin Jing had been here, his little brother would probably be staring at him with that quiet, disappointed look he sometimes gave whenever Zixin did something stupid.
