For a moment, the bullet in his hand was like a hot potato. Qing Yi's hand shook, and the bullet fell from his grasp.
The sound of the metal hitting the ground rang out clearly.
"What are you talking about? What on earth happened?" Qing Yi, looking at the red-eyed drunkard, felt his entire heart lift.
Everything had been fine that morning, and these past few days he had been much better than any day before. How could he suddenly say such terrifying and frightening words?
The drunkard snapped back to reality, realizing he had said things he shouldn't have, and looked at Qing Yi, his face full of worry, feeling somewhat nervous.
"No, it's nothing. I just drank a bit too much." The drunkard, somewhat panicked, shoved the pistol back into Qing Yi's hand.
"I drank too much, and my mind is a bit unclear, babbling nonsense."
"But your eyes tell me you're very sober right now," Qing Yi nearly shouted.
"..."
"Speak, what on earth is it?"
