Song Jian's generosity delighted Liu Zhiqiang. The extra ten thousand yuan was clearly his commission, equivalent to the fee he normally received for facilitating five or six people.
If it had been an ordinary person showing such wealth, Liu Zhiqiang would probably have had dishonest intentions, but recalling Song Jian's gaze, Liu Zhiqiang's heart shook, and all ill thoughts dissipated. He gave Song Jian repeated assurances and agreed on a time to leave in the afternoon before turning and walking out of the room.
"There are too many ruthless people around these days, all seeming like murderers with their sharp eyes. Damn it, maybe I should also go into hiding for a couple of days..." As Liu Zhiqiang walked slowly, he frowned and muttered to himself.
Just after five in the afternoon, Song Jian carried a handbag and left the courtyard with Liu Zhiqiang, who drove an old van that was falling apart toward a desolate beach.
