A violent Vibration wracked his mind, and his vision went black.
This sense of utter depletion was worse than physical exhaustion.
'I need to head back.'
He glanced at the time.
After more than three hours of high-intensity Cultivation, he had used up nearly a third of his hundred-plus Recovery Potions.
Han Feng piloted the "Hunting Falcon," landing it smoothly on the runway.
He jumped down from the plane and walked toward the creaking wicker chair.
"Back?"
Uncle Sun lowered his newspaper, revealing a pair of cloudy eyes as his gaze lingered on Han Feng for a moment.
"Yeah."
Han Feng handed over his personal terminal.
Uncle Sun took it and deducted ten thousand Contribution Points, which included the rental fee and the "listening fee" for the Armor plate.
"You really pushed it on this flight, kid."
As Uncle Sun handed the terminal back to him, there seemed to be some other meaning hidden in his old eyes.
