Old Sir Zhao's face had not turned the blood-red of Qin Hai's cough, but it was paler than before, clearly having suffered greatly.
Looking down at the new footprint on his chest, the old man's face swiftly turned from white to black, and he said grimly, "Young Friend Qin, I will say it one last time, hand over that broken bone, and this matter will end here."
"Hold it!" Qin Hai raised his hand to stop the other party, his mind suddenly sparked with an idea; he thought it opportune to ask Old Sir Zhao about the origin of the broken bone. "You've been going on about this broken bone; how about you tell me—what animal is it from? You value it so, it must be some treasure. Can it be used in medicine?"
Unexpectedly, Old Sir Zhao was not duped and said sternly, "You need not know. The broken bone belongs to the Zhao Family; you must return it."