"Yes, Fourth Master."
Iron Hand, always a man of strict orders and prohibitions.
The van drove out of the parking lot, and after a brief disturbance at the train station's west exit, peace quickly returned under police guidance. Although groups of people still huddled together in discussion, no one truly knew what had happened.
At that moment.
From the bustling crowd, a tall and handsome man emerged. One hand pulled a black leather suitcase, while the other draped a black trench coat over his arm. On the slender index finger of his left hand, he wore a men's snakehead ring that glistened with a chilly sheen under the light.
Passing several police officers, his face remained impassive, his stride leisurely and confident. In his calm gaze, not a sliver of sharpness was exposed, indistinguishable from any ordinary traveler.
Reaching the roadside, he hailed a taxi with a wave of his hand.
