Shao didn't say much. His face was tight with restraint as he knelt beside a pile of salvaged supplies and swiftly packed a small bag. A few chocolates, an energy drink bottle, and a thick table leg—went into the old backpack. He zipped it shut and tossed it without ceremony.
The bag landed with a dull thud by Jian Hao's feet.
"Here," Shao muttered, not even looking at him.
Muchen crossed his arms and nodded toward it, eyes cold. "Take it. And leave."
Jian Hao's head slowly lifted, his expression twisted with disbelief and venom. "This is unfair…" he choked out, his voice shaking. "Where is your humanity?"
His eyes flared with spite as he turned his gaze directly to Muchen. "You monsters! And you…" His lips curled. "You're carrying a monster in your stomach."
Time stopped.
That was all it took.
Muchen didn't blink. His jaw tightened. Then, without a word, the back of his gun struck Jian Hao square across the face.
