The men at the front of the convoy all stared ahead. First, they heard the crisp crackle of footsteps crushing fallen leaves on the ground. After a moment, a figure wearing a black cloak and a mask, holding a long blade, slowly emerged from the dense fog.
There was a crimson mark on the mask, right between the eyebrows. To their horror, the man was dragging Old Han's corpse with one hand. They could see that the latter's head was cracked open, revealing charred tissue inside. They all instinctively recoiled, nervously raising their guns and aiming at the newcomer, but not a single one dared to fire.
Once Chen Chuan drew near, he tossed Old Han's corpse forward. Ignoring the guns pointed at him, he looked toward a specific car in the convoy.
Xu Xianwen saw this scene through the car window. He stared intently at Chen Chuan's figure. After a long moment, he reached for the door handle, turned it, and pushed the door open to step out.
