A single word, "friend," made Wang Cong shiver as if a cold knife had pierced through his dark heart. His legs weakened, collapsing like a pile of mud without support, kneeling powerlessly at Feng Mu's feet as tears streamed uncontrollably, sobbing beyond coherence.
Wang Cong's face was filled with regret, his throat felt blocked by something, and the sounds he made were disjointed, unable to form complete sentences:
"Feng Mu, I, I, I..."
Feng Mu, as always, understanding, spoke for Wang Cong:
"I know, you secretly swapped my electric baton, and you also dropped something filthy into my food. I know everything."
Wang Cong was in tears, staring blankly upwards, his snot and tears flowing back, smearing his face.
Feng Mu did not feel disgusted at all; he leisurely pulled out a tissue from his pocket and gently wiped Wang Cong's face of mucus and tears.
