Li Huowang sat on his own bed for several hours, and ultimately, he let out a long sigh, having calmed down completely.
Qian Fu was dead, and he had known him the longest. He was saddened by his death, but the dead cannot be brought back to life, and thinking about him now was useless.
What was more important now was the issues with Qing Wanglai that his death had exposed.
In the past, Li Huowang had always thought that aside from being somewhat arrogant and stubbornly believing that his own ideas were always right, Qing Wanglai was otherwise normal, but it was clear that he had been mistaken.
Qing Wanglai was very off, extremely off, and the most troubling part was his emotions.
Facing the death of a person, even the death of an acquaintance, his heart did not contain a shred of concern.
The death of Qian Fu was even less important to him than his own helmet thrown on the ground.
