In the pitch-black dormitory hall.
White Tail rested her chin on the master's shoulder.
Black Star nestled in the master's embrace.
Bai Mo furrowed his brow, touching Black Star's head.
Pondering in his mind...
"So the risk of this potion is that if I want to use it, I have to make a bet with myself; bet whether I belong to an addictive constitution?
"If I truly am, then I will become obsessed with... hearing all kinds of sounds?
"Obsessed with transplanting more ears onto myself?
"In those days, the Ancient Immortals were gambling before ingesting this potion?
"Betting on their constitution, betting whether they would become addicted, betting on whether they would become obsessed, betting on whether they could control themselves once they became addicted?"
This matter, Bai Mo dares not claim he has confidence.
Because, those Ancient Immortals who eventually became addicted, lost control, and were hanged on the Bronze Gate... presumably were confident at the beginning too.
