The mist climbed up from the river, like someone wiping the world with a wet cloth in the dark. Huang Chengxuan was lying in the grass, the tip of his nose was filled with the cold fragrance of diesel and musty smell, and his forehead was pressed with a "fake identity" that had just been torn off the lining of his uniform. It was so fake that he didn't even dare to take a second look at it.
The light at the sentinel point ahead flickered on and off, like a broken electrocardiogram. Huang Chengxuan knew that tonight's task was simple: deliver a piece of "information" to the right hand, and at the same time separate "himself" from that hand. The funny thing is, he's been doing this since the last time he was caught - disguising himself.
"Chengxuan, don't move." Ding Yaxi's voice came from behind, as low as being scraped from the cracks of the iron sheet. She didn't appear in his sight, she just hammered her words into his eardrums like nails. Huang Chengxuan's Adam's apple rolled up, but he still had a curse on his lips that was about to break out: "Don't move?" He has already taken his life.
Ding Yaxi turned half sideways from the shadow of the grass, revealing her left hand
