The desert night was cold, and Deng Cong's room was even chillier with a whistling breeze.
He had asked his assistant to prepare a list, and now, the assistant had placed it in front of him.
Deng Cong glanced at it, lifted his head indifferently, and looked at the assistant, "Is this all?"
"These... this is everything," the assistant replied with a trembling voice.
"Just this?" Deng Cong chuckled coldly, "I can overlook these, but there is one thing I want to clarify: did the items I asked you to deliver to my wife and daughter reach them?"
Hearing Deng Cong's question, the assistant's eyes widened suddenly, then he guiltily lowered his head.
At this point, there was no need to say anything else.
"You can go, do whatever you want, just stay out of the entertainment industry because I fear I might not resist sorting you out," Deng Cong said calmly, crumpling the list into a ball and throwing it in the trash, "No, I want to kill you."
