The night was growing darker, and the nightscape of the capital city of Sam Country was astonishingly bustling. Neon lights emitted a brilliant array of colors, and the cars on the street showed no signs of decreasing due to the nightfall. Various bars lined the streets, and handsome men and beautiful women entered and exited in groups of three or five. A somewhat hot breeze blew through the window into the room, brushing against Luo Zheng's face, which was standing by the window, yet it couldn't dissipate the deep unease on his face.
It was already nine at night. Hong Meihua was still outside setting up an assassination mission on the intelligence leader, and everything seemed normal. Lan Xue went to contact the National Security Department to arrange for the retreat. She called ten minutes ago with a good progress report, but Luo Zheng's inner unease intensified with the passage of time.
