Fang Cheng heard these words, and his expression instantly froze.
He lowered his head, his eyes flickering behind his glasses, seemingly weighing the pros and cons.
A few seconds later, he sighed, with a deep sense of regret in his tone:
"That's truly a pity."
"What..."
Ghost Scythe was stunned when he heard this, not yet comprehending the meaning of the words.
The next second.
Fang Cheng's previously trembling wrist suddenly locked into place like a precision mechanical arm.
Bang, bang, bang, bang—
Four gunshots, almost forming a single line.
This wasn't random shooting.
At the moment of pulling the trigger, Fang Cheng's wrist trembled at an incomprehensible high frequency, causing the gun barrel to swing in a bizarre arc.
Four bullets flew out of the chamber, tracing four distinctly different arcs of death in the air.
Each targeted Ghost Scythe's forehead, throat, heart, and lower abdomen!
"Ghost Shooting!"
