Responding to him was a brief name.
"Pacquiao."
"Huh?"
On the other end came the sound of someone's brain crashing, overloaded with thought.
Lu Feng rolled his eyes: "It's that bloodwashing fleet on the Panghuang Sea, the asshole Old Deng called Pacquiao, alive and breathing. Just say whether you want it or not!
Order now and get an extra head, other leaders included, offer ends soon."
Saying this, he turned the camera around, aimed it at Pacquiao's face, snapped a photo with a 'snap,' and sent it over.
Immediately, the other end was in an uproar.
A chaotic noise.
It seemed like they got up and fell down again, even dropping the phone.
When they picked it up again, the voice became incredibly sweet, exceedingly sincere, almost crying with desperation: "Dad, wait for me, Dad! You must wait for me!
Wait for me, really wait for me!!!"
"I'll wait half an hour for you, think it through before calling,"
Lu Feng sneered and then hung up.
