Huang Zhongjiu's expression was poor as he spoke, clearly there was a story there.
Fang Huai was no voyeur, nor did he have any delusions of being a purveyor of justice. Naturally, he lost interest in the playground that night and only gave the training facilities a cursory glance before moving on.
He'd always assumed that in such a tightly controlled walled compound, even if someone were to steal moments for love, it would invariably be Platonic, with soldiers focused on washing laundry, generation following generation, with the current.
Unexpectedly, it seemed that not everything was absolute; descendants did indeed find other destinations.
Luckier than I, indeed.
