I stared intently at the pitch-black, strangely shaped object in Wei Zhongxian's hand. Calling it a chamber pot would be an insult to chamber pots everywhere.
An indescribable sense of oppression hung in the air—the calm before the storm, making one's hair stand on end.
"What kind of madness is this old bastard up to?" I muttered under my breath, with a gut feeling that nothing good could come of that thing.
Chapter 64