An Exchange of Questions

The masked man remained sullen even after Zhao Yu had spoken. His eyes were cold, full of disgust and hatred.

His right hand was holding a pistol, which trembled slightly.

At first, Zhao Yu thought he was angry, but upon taking a closer look, Zhao Yu realized that his shoulder was injured and soaked in blood!

Oh?

Zhao Yu was secretly thrilled that his marksmanship had improved by leaps and bounds. He managed to hit him even without taking proper aim.

Noticing that the masked person had not said a single word after all this time, the big guy walked over and murmured in his ear.

In response, the masked person started grinning widely, then mumbled at Zhao Yu. "Humph… @#￥%%..."

The masked person had just spoken in a Southeast Asian dialect, much to Zhao Yu's surprise.

D*mn!

Zhao Yu rolled his eyes, musing to himself. Is this guy acting cool or what? Does he actually not understand Mandarin?

Hmm…

That can't be, right?