Ou Haquan instantly felt that half of his body was numb and unbearably itchy, as if countless tiny insects were gathering under his skin, gnawing at his flesh and blood.
"Let's talk! Don't kill me!"
Ou Haquan did not expect Zhou Yinseng's body technique and hidden weapon to be so formidable, feeling both shocked and furious.
But he knew if he didn't stop moving, he would surely die, so he stood still and begged for mercy.
Zhou Yinseng, whose head and face were covered, suddenly descended from the ceiling, using a sharp sleeve arrow to hold against the back of Ou Haquan's head.
The tip of the sleeve arrow slightly pierced Ou Haquan's flesh, and a trickle of blood ran down from his hair.
"What do you have to say?" Zhou Yinseng asked.
He was not afraid of Ou Haquan resisting, as any movement would lead him to send the sleeve arrow, and Ou Haquan would be dead.
Moreover, his profession as an assassin was naturally about killing for money.
