Wan suddenly had a brainwave: "Could it be that he brings the tools every time, does the work, and then takes them away? Like an itinerant carpenter in ancient times?"
"You kid..."
Li Jian's mouth twitched, "Your imagination is quite rich. But I suspect there might be other similar hidden spots nearby."
Soon, Jiang An came outdoors with a high-powered flashlight, the night wind tousling his somewhat disheveled short hair.
His sharp gaze swept over every inch of land like a searchlight.
Suddenly, he noticed an anomaly on the right side — although the grass was growing, it was much sparser than elsewhere, with a suspiciously deliberate arrangement, as if concealing some shameful secret.
He crouched down, his slender fingers gently parted the grass, and the touch of soil on his fingertips made him frown slightly.
"Wan, is there a small shovel in the toolbox?"
