The driver glanced at Song Qingchun through the rear-view mirror and promised confidently, "Leave it to me."
The young man didn't respond but bent over to grab a wooden stick about one meter long from underneath the chair. Then he pushed open the door and got down.
The fat man beside Song Qingchun followed soon after. He pulled a dagger about ten centimeters long from his pocket and unsheathed it. He looked at it, and as if unsatisfied, he tossed the dagger back into the car and searched for a wooden stick from underneath the seat. This time, Song Qingchun got a clearer look, and the wooden stick had been sharpened at one end.
The fat man didn't close the door, so Song Qingchun could hear the conversation outside rather clearly.
It was the young man who called out first. "Who are you? You're here for the person in the car?"
"Let her go."
Song Qingchun's eyes widened to their maximum when she heard the voice.
