Tumors.
Zhang Fusheng saw people completely covered by pure pink tumors.
Their bodies were filled with tumors, writhing as if they were alive, and some even had eyes!
What the hell is this?!
"Kill... kill me..."
One of the tumors weakly pleaded.
Zhang Fusheng's scalp tingled, and he didn't dare to touch them. He asked solemnly:
"Zhou Qianshan, Chen Zhong?"
The tumors nodded with difficulty:
"Kill me... kill us..."
They were begging.
Zhang Fusheng suppressed his inner turmoil and asked in a low voice:
"Are you willing to exchange decades of contemplation technique practice for... peace?"
"I will take away your pain."
His aged voice echoed in the foul-smelling and cramped room, appearing solemn and grave.
The two centenarian elders covered in tumors nodded with difficulty.
Their minds were hazy, and they were enduring unimaginable torment, longing only for death, but it was something Zhang Fusheng could not grant them.
