A month later.
After a downpour, the weather turned dry, and the cold wind cut like a knife.
Inside a teahouse, Wu Xing stood before the window with his hands clasped behind him. The Qingyuan River was clearly visible in the distance. Jin Zheng sat at the tea table, hands tucked into his sleeves, gazing at the steaming tea before him with an unfocused look, seemingly lost in thought.
CLICK.
Lighting a cigarette, Jin Zheng sighed deeply. "The war hasn't even started, yet because of a single lie, Chen Jian has managed to secure his position as the Supreme Martial Commander. If this were to get out, wouldn't it be laughably absurd?"
"He truly stops at nothing to consolidate his position. It's quite an eye-opener for us." Jin Zheng scoffed with a look of derision. "How pathetic!"
"Chen Yang, still no word on him?" Wu Xing brought up the old matter, his tone heavy.
Jin Zheng shook his head. "It's as if he's evaporated from the face of the earth, vanished without a trace."
