It was clear that she should have felt more at ease with Song Yansheng gone, but why did it suddenly seem like the garden was emptier...?
Probably, she just wasn't used to it. She thought.
...
Inside the black Land Rover, the man watched the figure turning to enter the house in the rearview mirror, his once soft black eyes gradually replaced by sharpness and gloom.
He glanced at the time, knowing that person never liked others to be late.
Instinctively, he pressed the gas pedal.
Half an hour later, Song Yansheng's car stopped at a teahouse.
He casually glanced at the teahouse's decor, ancient and full of charm, which suited his style.
With a cold sneer, he pushed the car door open, handed the keys to the valet, and stepped into the teahouse.
Led by a waitress in a cheongsam, he was escorted to the door of a private room.
As the door of the private room opened, the faint aroma of tea mixed with incense wafted in.
"Sir, we're here!" the waitress said.
