"Where are you going?"
The tailor was taken aback.
"To heaven... to find my godfather."
Jiao Qingyuan said with a cold face.
"What... Fourth Brother, you... don't think like that."
The tailor's face turned pale.
"Are you coming along? It's nice to have company on the way."
Jiao Qingyuan asked again.
"Do I have a choice?"
The tailor plopped down on the chair.
Though life was not affluent, he didn't actually want to die.
Life on earth is so beautiful.
A day's earnings were enough for some barbecue, and occasionally, he could play a round of mahjong.
Who wants to die!
"Yes.
"You can choose to be slapped to death or pinched to death."
Jiao Qingyuan held a briefcase, like a demon from hell in the dimly lit room.
...
No one would have thought a murder would occur in a small tailor shop.
Jiao Qingyuan had already reached the West City Mausoleum.
In less than five minutes, the blood moths from the air sink stones would be released in sufficient numbers.
