The Hengfei Group stood imposingly at the mouth of 'Scythe', while Yan Juanjuan held a freshly brewed cup of coffee, standing at the spot. The floor she was on was not the highest in Hengfei Mansion but was at the top tier of a pivotal level. This position could be said to gaze longingly towards Yao Zheng's private rest spot. Although not entirely visible, one could enjoy a decent view through a high-density telescope, just like now.
Yao Zheng hadn't appeared at the supposed time and place but was instead buried between beds, battling on the field with a woman. Yan Juanjuan smiled mysteriously, a smile hanging on her otherwise plain face resembling that of an executioner holding a large knife, appearing as a death's silent lament at the moment the blade falls.
Is it sympathy? Or pity? Perhaps only Yan Juanjuan understood within herself.
