Just as a palm strike was about to hit Ye Xiong, the seemingly dying man suddenly drew his dagger across his chest.
The palm strike didn't hit Ye Xiong's chest; instead, the blade sliced open Thirteen's hand. If he hadn't retracted his hand so quickly, the dagger would have pierced straight through his palm.
Thirteen retreated several meters away, staring at Ye Xiong with wide eyes. "You're not injured?"
"What do you think?" Ye Xiong stood up.
Only then did He Mengji react, snapping angrily, "Thirteen, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Don't you understand yet? He's not Thirteen at all," Ye Xiong said coldly, his eyes fixed on the man before him. "I'm right, aren't I, Mister Ghost?"
The man who looked like Thirteen suddenly burst into loud laughter, but the voice that rang out was unfamiliar and definitely not Ghost's. "If I were my master, do you think you could have hurt me?"