Bi Junxian listened to the conversation between the two, feeling increasingly impatient. Clearly, a few sentences could have explained everything, but they insisted on going around in circles. Weren't they tired?
However, if those people he extorted with photos or recordings heard this, they'd probably beat him to death.
Guan Huarong suffered a similar loss when he was young, so ever since then, he never let words he shouldn't say slip out, regardless of whether the other person was recording or not.
...
The winter days always seemed especially short.
It was just a little after four in the afternoon, and darkness was already looming.
Xiao Feng sat under the big tree, drinking tea. Two Martial Monks, not feeling tired, stood behind him. Every time Lin Jiaxuan tried to "accidentally" pass by, the two would move in to firmly guard the teacups on the stone table.
"Alright, the tea's gone cold, and it's getting dark, time for us to leave," Xiao Feng said, standing up.
