The voice was refined, the tone mocking, with a hint of cynicism.
"Han, Han Mochen?" Shen Li said, surprised and puzzled, looking at the man at the door.
The voice was right, the face too, and he was still wearing glasses.
But that feeling...
"I didn't hear any screaming, no cries of 'filthy hooligan,' so it seems... you two were indeed just resting quietly."
Han Mochen continued to tease as he lowered the hand that was covering his eyes.
"You, how come you're... here?" Shen Li grew more and more confused.
It might have had something to do with clothes, even when they met on Night Island, through fire and sword, Han Mochen was still in a sweater and long pants.
Ordinary and casual, with an air of both righteousness and wickedness.
But now he wore black clothes, a heavy machine gun slung over his shoulder.
The standard mercenary outfit, completely shedding the refined exterior.
