Following the red dot on the map, Aron Jackson led Hawthorne to a hotel.
He flung out a card and tossed it to the front desk, quickly heading upstairs.
Upon reaching the fifth floor, a beggar was standing there.
It seemed he had been waiting for a long time.
"Boss." The beggar tied up his hair and leaned over to Aron Jackson: "In the restaurant across the street, I found something fishy. Normally, the restaurant doesn't have many customers, but why is there so much shit every day? And after we tested the feces, we were even more shocked!"
"Get to the point." Aron Jackson clamped a cigar between his fingers, squinting as he looked across the street.
"Ordinary Martial Artists have better digestion than regular people. But our test results show that this group's shit is incredibly clean! It's basically nothing! Just waste!" The beggar handed the test report to Aron Jackson.
