Rainy nights in Haicheng always carry a dampness and coldness that cannot be overcome. The halo of neon lights spread out on the wet asphalt road, like an overturned palette. In an abandoned textile factory in the west of the city, water droplets fell rhythmically from the dilapidated roof and hit the stagnant water, making a monotonous "tick" sound.
The pungent smell of rust and blood filled the air.
In the corner, a man was tied behind his back on a cold iron chair. His face was full of fear and despair. His mouth was sealed with black tape, and he could only moan "woo woo". His name is Wang Kun, a steward on the outskirts of the Cang family. He is usually domineering and domineering, but now he is like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
In the shadows, a figure slowly walked out. It's Baguio.
"Wang Kun," Baguio's voice was very soft, but like a poisoned ice needle, it easily pierced the cover of the rain, "Cang Minghai, when was the last time you saw him and what did you say?"
Wang Kun struggled violently, his eyes bloodshot.
Baguio was unmoved and pulled out a strange short blade from the back of her waist. The blade was long and narrow, glowing with a faint blue light, like a piece of solidified glass. She gently scratched Wang Kun's cheek with the tip of the blade, leaving a shallow blood mark.
"Don't deny it in a hurry. I know that you are responsible for delivering some of his 'private' news." Baguio's tone did not waver at all. "When the Cang family destroyed my Mo family, you were also one of the accomplices, right? Even though it was just an insignificant role."
