At night, a crescent moon hung high in the sky, spilling its silver light down unto Thai Tiger's mansion, rendering it even more serene and eerily quiet, as if it were a dead city.
Seen from the outside, the mansion looked like a dead city.
The evening breeze blew, and Chen Fan carried Chekhov out of the villa. Thai Tiger trotted along behind him, respectfully holding open the car door, allowing Chen Fan to put Chekhov in the back seat.
Seeing Chen Fan had finished, Thai Tiger hurriedly opened the front door for him, then took a step back, bowed, and waited for Chen Fan to get in the car.
"Thai Tiger, remember my words," said Chen Fan, climbing into the driver's seat. He rolled down the window and calmly addressed the other man.
Thai Tiger bowed at an angle of ninety degrees: "Please, be assured!"
Chen Fan didn't waste any more words, and started the car.
Under the anxious gaze of Thai Tiger, Chen Fan drove off into the darkness.
