The bright moon hid behind the dark clouds, the stars were hard to find, and the desert was covered in a gray haze. Behind a dune, several kilometers away from the desert highway, a small car was parked with a damaged rear end. The desert temperature at three in the morning was already very low. The car's lights were off, and the engine was silent. In the back seat, a man and a woman were huddled together for warmth. It was Luo Zheng and Lan Xue, who had just driven here in a mad dash.
After taking out the assassins, the two had left silicone masks and outer garments behind, intending to frame the two dead assassins. Whether this tactic would work or not was uncertain. Luo Zheng held Lan Xue in his arms, his mind repeatedly flashing back to the events of the day, from being framed to the police station, to causing chaos there, and finally killing the assassins. Everything seemed to carry an unreal feeling.
