The van had been driving on this broken road for almost four hours, and Wu Mo's buttocks were so numb that he couldn't feel anything.
The driver was a Burmese driver, who kept talking all the way, from Aung San Suu Kyi to the military, and from the military to the price of oil. His Burmese was mixed with broken Chinese, and Wu Mo couldn't help but make a guess. He leaned against the car window, his eyes half-closed, and he went through the information in his mind - the layout of the Wu family villa, photos of the main characters, and Su Yu'e's file. He looked over it no less than twenty times.
"Boss, there's no way to pass." The driver stepped on the brakes and turned to look at him, "On the Wu family's territory, cars from outside are not allowed to enter, so you have to go by yourself."
