"Hmm, I'm not going to the special forces,"
Mo Shangjun said in a tone so light and breezy, as if she had never even considered the "special forces" as an option for her future path.
At that moment, Ya Tianxing, who was setting up a tent, glanced over here, intentionally or unintentionally.
"Why?"
Mu Qixuan looked up in surprise, his eyes fixed on her, and he even forgot to peel off the last layer of lotus leaves wrapping the roasted chicken.
In his perception, any soldier he'd met took pride in joining "special forces," and some would even pulse with excitement at the mention of it.
It was a place where they could affirm their beliefs, fulfill their missions, and become true soldiers.
For such places, they harbored inexplicable admiration and longing.
"Dangerous."
Mo Shangjun spoke indifferently, tossing a dry stick into the campfire.
Taken aback for a moment, Mu Qixuan chuckled, "Are you afraid?"
Mo Shangjun thought for a moment and curved her lips, "Possibly."