As Zhang Yhiming stepped out of the grand ballroom, his twisted smile faded, replaced by a grim determination that etched lines of resolve onto his weathered features. His footsteps echoed through the deserted corridors, each stride carrying him further away from the revelries and closer to the shadows that beckoned him onward.
In the dimly lit parking lot, a sleek black sedan idled, its engine purring with a quiet menace that seemed to reverberate through the night air. Zhang Yhiming wasted no time, sliding into the backseat with a fluidity that belied his age, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the figure seated in the driver's seat.
"Drive," he commanded, his voice laced with a quiet authority that brooked no argument.
