61. The waist is a boning knife.

Lu Jincheng was eighteen years old this year.

An eighteen-year-old youth, his face bright and filled with vitality, brimming with endless energy.

At the moment of rebirth, the adrenaline and blood flow that had finally calmed down were reawakened.

Alcohol, combat, beauties.

These were cravings embedded deep within human genes since the primordial era, and Lu Jincheng was no exception.

In his previous life, he had drained himself in endless indulgence, relying solely on his meager abilities in the latter half.

Tonight, with the arrow on the bow, he was determined to reclaim everything he had lost!

At the edge of the mat, Mou Keyan had her back to him, her skirt swaying delicately, a white sock hanging on her dainty ankle, her exquisite curves more pronounced in the night.

He undid the clasp and clasped Mou Keyan's neck, flipping her around.

Her pale skin was adorned with agate hues, fatally attractive to any man.

It was late at night.