The man in the suit stood quietly at the boundary between the shadows of the mine shaft and the ghastly light of the emergency lamp.
His body line was straight, as if he had just attended an upper-class banquet rather than escaped from the filthy, chaotic pit bottom.
He turned around and saw Fang Qingyu struggling in the dusty entrance, covered in blood, with a severely injured little girl tied to his back.
Finally, a trace of expression appeared on his flawless face.
It wasn't shock, nor was it panic, but rather a playful curiosity, like discovering a rare insect struggling in the dust.
"Heh..."
A low chuckle echoed in the deathly silence, carrying a mockery that settled with the dust, "You haven't died?"
He took a slow step forward.
The light cast his tall shadow in front of Fang Qingyu, those cold, inorganic eyes swept over Fang Qingyu's blood-stained and muddy face and the unconscious Jiang Wei on his back.
His tone was indifferent, as if confirming a trivial matter:
