"What are you up to?"
The direction was pointed out swiftly, but at the moment the hand dropped, Yuan Shan was startled, staring intently at Fu Qian's head.
Silently, he had put on a strange mask.
Red and white intertwined, resembling a clown, with blood tears at one corner of an eye, uncertain if they were tears of laughter or sorrow.
"It's nothing. Do you think if I go with this image, everyone's impression might be better?"
Fu Qian seemed puzzled by the excessive reaction, casually tapping on the mask of the Destined God, consulting Yuan Shan's opinion.
"I'm not sure, but if you've really decided on this, make sure to let me know in advance."
Though expressing uncertainty, the latter coldly spoke the next moment.
The implication was clear: at that time, you'd better go alone without splattering me with blood.
"Understood."
Fu Qian, who always appreciated feedback, sighed lightly and took off the mask again.
