Next, the four people proceeded through the pool, using the corpses like handrails to support themselves.
The corpses were generally overweight, with a few skinny ones that had been recently murdered and tossed in before they had the chance to turn into giants for display.
Especially when passing by a particularly normal-looking corpse, Li Zhiyuan's left hand, as if by coincidence, ended up lodged in the corpse's hand, and for a moment, he couldn't pull it free.
"Xiao Yuan?" Run Sheng, who was behind, saw the boy stop and hurriedly asked.
"I'm fine." With his other hand, Li Zhiyuan touched the face of this corpse.
He was no expert in physiognomy like a blind man feeling bones, but he had or had had the skills necessary.
Through touch, the image of the corpse's face formed in Li Zhiyuan's mind, not very clear but recognizable—it was Zhu Yang.
Li Zhiyuan withdrew his hand from Zhu Yang's face, intending to pat his chest to signal "condolences."
