Fang Qingyang shook his head. "No. I really don't know anything."
"Nothing at all?" Murong Liu pressed.
"Can't I place a bet without you?" Fang Qingyang retorted lightly, then added, "Alright, stop asking. You've already placed your bet. There's no point worrying now. I chose what I believe will win. That's all."
"You…" Murong Liu snorted softly. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
But inside, Murong Liu was anything but calm.
His own bet was worth six drops of Holy Liquid, a staggering amount of wealth. How could he possibly ignore this?
If everything were normal, he would have accepted the outcome, win or lose. But now, with Fang Qingyang's abnormal confidence and the North District's strange behavior, Murong Liu sensed something was off.
And knowing that, how could he remain at ease?
After a long internal struggle, Murong Liu finally gritted his teeth and made a decision.
