Zheng Qing counted accurately.
Thomas extracted a total of three bags of blood from him, cut away two pieces of skin slightly larger than a fingernail, and gouged out three pieces of flesh—one bag of blood and one piece of flesh were directly given to Nikita.
If based on Zheng Qing's physical condition a year ago, he would have gone into shock after three bags of blood were drawn.
But now, he just felt a bit dizzy, breathing was weak, his body was powerless, yet his consciousness was very clear. So when Thomas cut the third piece of flesh from his buttocks, he still had the strength to joke.
"Luckily, I'm not Irish."
The young assistant weakly grunted.
"Why do you say that?" The owner of the lab was very considerate, acting as his foil.
