Inside Zou Fang's spiritual sea of consciousness, Wei Long suddenly froze mid-sentence—a rare occurrence.
Something in his head clicked.
Then, he screamed.
"HEY, ZOU FANG!"
Zou Fang flinched.
"What?! Why are you shouting?!"
"Answer me this—did that old man Fan Ming just say that all this beast food—this massive pile of smelly but high-quality beast feed—was just a week's worth for that fat-ass lizard?"
Zou Fang blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
Wei Long lost it.
Inside the spiritual sea, a thunderous roar of frustration exploded, shaking the entire space. If the mental world had walls, they would have cracked.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Wei Long howled. "NO WONDER THAT LIZARD GOT FAT! NO WONDER IT WAS DYING! IT WASN'T SICK—IT WAS LIVING A DAMN LUXURIOUS LIFE! YOU'RE TELLING ME THIS BIG, USELESS, FAT REPTILE EATS THIS MUCH EVERY SINGLE WEEK?!"
Zou Fang scratched his head. "Uh… yeah, pretty much."
Wei Long's frustration only intensified.
