A beam of light fell only on Mo Shangjun.
The air carried a suffocating sense of oppression.
After a long silence, the other party finally skipped the question, but a series of inquiries followed closely.
They asked repeatedly about the details, fearing they might miss anything.
This was a relatively large smuggling case, highly valued from above, so every detail was worth scrutinizing; accidentally stumbling upon this event, the special forces trainees' assessment got inexplicably involved.
There's always a heap of matters.
Over the past year or two, Mo Shangjun had frequently encountered such scenarios, and she has long been able to face them calmly.
*
When Mo Shangjun left, it was almost dark.
A look at the time, it's already past seven, stomach growling.
She was in a bad mood.
As was Ding Jing, who was with her.
Ding Jing had come out one step ahead, waiting for her at the door.
"Headache?"
Ding Jing waved at her, similar to a gesture of beckoning a cat or dog.
