Just Wait, Zeming!

Once Mr. Owl left the abandoned building, Shen Zeming, still seated in his sleek black McLaren Senna, watched the shadow of the hitman disappear into the distance. Finally, he rolled down the tinted window, allowing one of his black-suited bodyguards to approach.

"Once the mission is done, make sure to clean him out," Shen Zeming commanded, his tone cold and deliberate.

Without another glance, he started the engine. The car roared to life, its guttural purr echoing through the desolate surroundings, before gliding out of the abandoned lot and onto the vast, quiet outskirts of Beijing under the glaring midday sun.

Mr. Owl—a hitman. But instead of exuding the composure of a professional, something about him felt... off.

‘He's nervous,’ Shen Zeming muttered to himself, recalling the peculiar tension in Mr. Owl’s demeanor.