When Su Qingyu dragged her left leg out of the gate, her calf muscles were as tight as a steel string that was about to be broken.
Every step landed on the ground, pulling at the shrapnel that had not yet been removed deep in the flesh - it was stuck in the proximal end of the fibula, with rough edges, slightly scratching the nerves as he walked, causing waves of dull and sharp throbbing pain.
She didn't frown or even slow down.
The backpack strap on the right shoulder has long been broken, and only a tactical rope wrapped three times can barely hang the bag body; the mouth of the bag is tilted, and half of the blood-stained medical bandage slipped out of the interlayer, trembling gently in the draft, like a flag that has not been lowered.
She had just crossed the covered bridge and her eyes were already scanning the airport pick-up gate.
No bouquets, no signs, no familiar faces.
Only three men in black gathered silently from behind the pillar, walking at the same pace and breathing very low - they were security personnel who had received anti-reconnaissance training.
The leader is about forty years old, with protruding wrist bones. On the ring finger of his left hand, he wears a titanium steel ring customized by the Xie Group, with the letters "XIE" embossed on the ring surface.
