To the right, not far ahead, a bush suddenly stirred, and then a figure walked out.
Mo Shangjun, carrying her gun, stepped out slowly, her gaze coldly fixed on this direction, sweeping her vision over and thoroughly sizing him up, the one exposed.
Under the night sky, the moonlight poured down like water, filtering through the dense, lush leaves, scattering specks of light.
With naked eyes, Mo Shangjun could see people clearly.
Nearly one meter ninety in height, not too burly, dressed in a training uniform, with a Type 95 sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, his face daubed with military camouflage paint, blending into the shadows, his features indiscernible.
His stance was casual, not on alert, suggesting he was not an enemy.
"Cough."
Feeling awkward under her piercing and icy stare, Peng Yuqiu coughed.
About five meters away from him, Mo Shangjun stopped in her tracks, her gaze growing colder as she asked tersely, "Are you one of Ya Tianxing's men?"
