Deep into the night, low and silent.
Sparse stars and moon, bone-chilling wind wandered between the empty streets and narrow alleys, emitting a sob-like hum. The branches of the plants swayed in the wind, creating a mottling of light and shadow, tinged with a bit of desolation and bleakness.
Inside the police station.
Zheng Ming rushed in hastily.
He stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes sharp like an eagle's, sizing up Lin Chuan.
This young man looked to be only about twenty-four or twenty-five, with extraordinary eyebrows and profound eyes, yet his face was delicate, showing a hint of immaturity.
Shen had mentioned his name was Lin Chuan.
Was he the one who had caught "Croney, the King of Killers from England"?
Zheng Ming couldn't help frowning.
This lad, seemingly just a novelist, a literati, could he really have wrestled with the King of Killers?
After stealing glances for a long while, he finally said, "Young man, did you confront Croney?"