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The dead of night in Yongtong District was still and quiet.
Dozens of dark figures split into five teams, swiftly surging into the alleyways.
The people walked with moss ash in their shoe soles, landing silently. They moved without speaking a word, communicating solely through hand gestures.
They resembled black ink injected into five twisting, slender glass tubes, with groups of people clad in black rapidly heading toward their target.
Soon, they had a residence completely surrounded.
Afar, on the rooftops lay five or six archers with strong bows at the ready.
Bang!
Zhuo Yinghai charged forward, leading the way and thundering towards the courtyard gate.
The gray wooden gate instantly shattered.
Zhuo Yinghai, not minding the wood chips and dust on his face and head, rushed into the house without hesitation.
In no time, he stormed out of the room with a face full of anger.
"No one?" Li Jun was surprised.
