In a crisis, adrenaline gets you through the fight.
But the moment you stop, the moment you lie down, the adrenaline thinks the danger's over and starts slacking off.
That's when Shen Xin started to feel the pain. His head hurt, his insides ached—his whole body was in agony.
Especially his left forearm, which had taken the brunt of a roundhouse kick. For the first time, Shen Xin experienced what a limp, excruciating pain felt like.
It was painful, weak, and sore, as if it were completely useless.
He fumbled with his right hand, pulling the phone out of Yang Zeran's jeans pocket.
'This bastard actually set a fucking lock screen password.'
"Password."
Shen Xin yelled.
Yang Zeran yelled back, leaning his face closer. "Face, face."
It used facial recognition.
Shen Xin aimed the phone at his face to unlock it. When he focused his eyes, he saw three phones in front of him.
"What was the number again?"
Shen Xin wanted to call Zhang Hancheng for backup.
