Swoosh.
After leaving the villa, Wang Xiao didn't head straight to his supposed destination. He walked, three blocks, no rush, moving through the afternoon hush of Pudong. The winter wind was light, the streets quieter than usual.
Eventually, he arrived.
A modest two-storey bungalow sat in front of him, not flashy, not grand. But the land it occupied?
Enough to buy ten villas in this district.
Low-key wealth. Corrupt bureaucrat style.
The golden nameplate on the front gate read:
[赵家 · Zhao Family]
Wang Xiao didn't knock.
He just looked up, toward the open second-floor window.
This was Zhao Family's house, yes. But the person he was here for wasn't a Zhao by blood.
She was adopted long ago.
A girl who, by every twisted thread of logic and fate, should've been with him.
She wasn't.
And it made life... inconvenient.
"Tch."
He moved.
One leap. Silent, precise. Like a shadow flicking through sunlight, he landed inside the open window.
Whoosh.
"Hmph… Not bad."
