The Speaking Pork Trotter

In the neon of blue and purple, under the thick steel sky, at the forefront of this surge of data, lies the world post-tech revolution.
It's also the dividing line between reality and illusion.
Steel and flesh, past and future.
In this place, the world outside and inside coexist. Everything in front of us feels like a wall of time within reach.
The darkness is slowly creeping in.
But hey, my friend, you gotta know, we can't just counter darkness with softness.
Gotta use fire.

Naming Technique of the Night

Lordbluefire

Qing Chen was still holding the cold, black pistol in the corridor.


The bright, white light from the elevator shone through the open door, creating an extremely awkward atmosphere.


The woman in front of him looked to be in her early twenties, with fair skin, crying beautifully like flowers in the rain, her eyes as red as if she had applied a circle of pink eyeshadow.


However, within the Inner World, skincare technology was quite advanced; some people in their forties could look just like they were in their twenties, so one's apparent age was no longer a reliable reference.


The woman's hands were free of calluses, and her physique bore no traces of combat training.


An assassin who had undergone long-term training would naturally hold their right hand still while walking, unlike an ordinary person who would swing their arms.


That was to draw a gun faster, to react more swiftly in a crisis.


370. Joining the Spy Bureau