This was a pair of emotionless eyes, indifferent, chilly, like those of the Hell Death God. As Luo Zheng and others emerged, the eyes remained unchanged, slowly pushing forward a sniper rifle, setting it up without immediately firing. Silently, he aimed, surveying each person, while large beads of sweat rolled from his forehead, past his eyebrows, soaking his eyes.
The stinging sweat made it difficult to keep his eyes open, yet he did not blink once, still focusing ahead. In the setting sun, he was like a wooden figure—motionless. A venomous scorpion slowly crawled over, onto the person, up his neck, and onto his head, looking around curiously.
The scorpion then slowly made its way down the man's ear. His facial muscles didn't twitch; his gaze stayed fixed ahead, motionless as though he were already dead. The scorpion, captivated, crept across his face, reaching his mouth.
