When the neighbors saw Han Fei carrying a large jar out of the club, their hearts finally settled back into their stomachs.
"Shop Manager, where did you get that large water jar?"
"This is a flower pot." Han Fei had Yinglong open the black umbrella, but as soon as Yinglong touched it, he screamed in agony as if he had touched a flame.
The umbrella fell to the ground, and the fine murderous intent that emerged on its surface was like the point of a needle, together forming the pattern of a shrine. Han Fei had seen this shrine before in the club's mirror; it was entirely composed of corpses, radiating a peerless fierce aura.
"What a strange umbrella."
"Issued by the club, it seems like holding this umbrella allows one to walk freely in the rain without worrying about the influence of the black rain." Han Fei handed the jar to Yinglong and held up the black umbrella, blending into this new area as if he were part of it.
