Xing Yu sat in the quiet of the main house, his body leaning slightly against the armrest as he met the eyes of the man seated across from him. He didn't trust this place—didn't trust Wang Bushen, nor the strangely pristine condition of the compound they'd been allowed to stay in. But more than anything, he hated that he'd been forced to send Jian and the others out to scout the secret base alone. If not for the fever burning through his system, sapping every ounce of strength and leaving his muscles heavy with fatigue, he would've gone himself.
Suppressing a cough that threatened to rise, Xing Yu reached for the teacup set before him. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted it to his lips, but his expression remained calm, sharp eyes studying Wang Bushen's composed face.
