Chapter 483 [Interlocking, a sharp knife!] Request for recommendation votes!_1

The fading sunset was spilling down, scattering in the primitive forest of Golden Triangle but was unable to penetrate the leaves' barrier. Under the large trees, lingering rainwater made the ground muddy and a moist scent permeated the air.

"Damn it, I swear to God, the weather in the Golden Triangle is too awful!"

Sitting in a military jeep, Chekhov faced the sunset, complaining like an aggrieved wife.

The black soldier driving the jeep remained indifferent to Chekhov's complaints.

"Right, Soldier?" Chekhov puffed on his cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, turned his head and asked his bodyguard.

The soldier's face was expressionless, he answered mechanically, "Boss, I think it's quite good here."