If I hadn't sown such good karma, how could I be reaping such a great reward today?"
Ouye Feng's eye twitched. "Do you have the nerve to say that? Back then, if Luo Binglan hadn't threatened that Armor Puppet of yours—the one your Manipulation Sect spent five hundred years studying—with an axe, would you have ever agreed to give her that coffin?"
Gongshu Wumao boasted proudly, "You don't know shit. That's called strategy. If I didn't act a little heartbroken, how would Junior Sister Luo have ever known how precious that coffin truly was?"
When a man is successful, even his farts seem to smell sweet. Just like Gongshu Wumao. Ouye Feng had seen with his own eyes how wretched he used to be, how hard his days were. But now, the utter nonsense he spouted somehow seemed to hold a sliver of truth. But Ouye Feng knew better. There was no truth to it. It was pure, dumb luck!
At this thought, Ouye Feng grew even more irritated.
