Lu Chenjia stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the figure with the gourd on his back merging into the crowd like an ant.
His narrowed eyes flashed with a complex light behind the lenses, scrutinizing it like a familiar artifact.
"Cold-hearted and ambitious, very smart, quick to react, just a bit too aggressive in his actions; not very pleasant to look at when he eats..."
But that's not a flaw; after all, when he first emerged in the group, he was the same way.
Twenty years ago, when he disguised his revenge and beheaded his beloved superior's family of five, wasn't he like this too?
"Heh—"
Lu Chenjia faintly saw in Wang Cong the shadow of his younger self. A tinge of nostalgia appeared on his face, and he muttered to himself:
"Being aggressive indeed invites backlash, but without aggression, without tasting blood, how else can one feast on the meat thrown by those in power?"
