The two men holding kitchen knives were still howling in pain, giving no answer to Old Qin's question.
Seeing this, a ruthless glint flashed through Old Qin's eyes as he raised the kitchen knife to chop down again.
The fat-eared man on the ground, seeing Old Qin about to strike, hurriedly said: "I can't distinguish clearly either, everything from these days is in this bucket."
Sweat drenched his head, not because of the heat, but because of the pain.
Especially the pain emanating from the broken bones made him gasp for air, "Hiss. There, there, there are a few more people upstairs, on the top floor, you go and look.
It's not our business, we were forced too, we were dragged over by them, we don't believe in the superstitious nonsense of the Unborn Mother of Misfortune.
So we were sent here to do this most exhausting work, it truly has nothing to do with us."
Beside him, another man who had an arm chopped off was also desperately using his remaining hand to press on the wound.
