The car stopped from afar, and the driver's gaze towards Hu Jiahao carried an even more distinct glimmer of fear.
The man speaking in front of him was childishly foolish, and the place they had arrived at was equally bizarre—it was the West Suburb Graveyard, after all, where it was said that the warehouse up ahead stored urns and funeral supplies from the graveyard.
It was broad daylight, but the driver felt a chill on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.
Almost the moment Jiahao got out of the car, the driver turned around and sped away like an arrow.
Turning around to yell and ask the car to wait for him, Jiahao hadn't even opened his mouth when he saw the car had already disappeared without a trace.
Feeling displeased, Jiahao pursed his lips and felt a tinge of regret inside.
