Hearing that somewhat raspy voice, Zhang Yang instinctively turned his head to take a look.
In sight was a man completely unfamiliar to him, looking to be in his early thirties, around a little over 1.7 meters tall, not exactly fat, but definitely not thin either—let's call it an average build.
The man had an outdated center part hairstyle, a long face, a pointed chin, and narrow eyes that gave off a very cold feeling.
If one had to describe the feeling in animal terms, those eyes resembled that of a snake.
"Qiu Wu! I've already severed ties with your people! What do you want now?"
Seeing Qiu Wu come over to stir up trouble again, Han Mocheng's previously smiling face instantly turned cold.
"I don't want anything! We used to be in cahoots, so seeing you from afar, what's wrong with coming over to say hi?"
Qiu Wu smirked, took out a cigarette and lit it in a very practiced manner, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
