On the roof of a distant factory building, next to a chimney, stood a wolf, staring directly towards the direction of the office building.
This, this is no ordinary wolf—it's practically a calf.
Forsythia Brown hurriedly ran into the tool room and carried Liz out, pointing at the distant wolf and asked, "Liz, is that them?"
Liz took a close look, her complexion changed slightly, and she clenched her teeth before saying, "Yes, it's them. I didn't expect that after twenty years, they still haven't died out."
Wolves have a limited lifespan—Liz's research about them had happened twenty years ago—those wolves couldn't possibly still be alive. Forsythia said, "Could it be a case of mutant genetics?"
"That possibility can't be ruled out. If it really is mutant genetics, then their population might be even bigger."
"Then..."
