Old Pan had a swell on his face in the shape of a slap, the kind that was bright red, and he was clutching "Harley's good friend" tightly in his hand, the uneven surface of the stick still stained with blood.
Li Erpang's nose had turned blue, and a stream of nosebleed was gushing out. From time to time, the sound of him sniffing could be heard, and the blood was sucked back into his nostrils.
Li Changge looked at the chaotic living room, wanting to cry but without tears.
He looked at Li Erpang and then at Old Pan, not sure whom to settle accounts with first.
As Li Erpang wiped his nosebleed, his hand trembled and he pointed at the stick in Little Pan Zheng's hand, "How the hell did you manage to bring, to bring that thing out?"
Old Pan slowly formed a question mark but did not hide the truth, "Won a raffle."
Li Erpang: "..."