Rustle, rustle.
The pen scratched across the paper, making a rustle sound.
Zhang Yiming wrote characters swiftly in his notebook, disregarding the wound on his abdomen, allowing black blood to gush out.
As a Zombie Emperor, he possessed human-like tactile and pain sensations but had a zombie-like constitution.
The black blood in his body was not essential to him; as long as his brain remained intact, even if he got decapitated, with enough crystal cores and time, he could return to his original state.
Pain was irrelevant to him.
The psychological torment was unbearable, yet so real.
Outside, the sun gradually disappeared, and the room darkened.
In the dark, Zhang Yiming's vision was unaffected.
Not until the moon hung on the tree did Zhang Yiming stop his pen.
Unknowingly, the floor was littered with piles of paper, all used for simulations.
A spark fell on the ground, quickly burning the papers silently.
