Leaving the villa, the car drove onto New York Avenue. The night scene in the wealthy district was bustling.
Shen Jing tentatively sent a text message to Zhuang Ming but received no reply.
She sent a second one: "Mr. Bodyguard."
By the time she returned to the farmhouse, there was still no word.
As indifferent as Zhuang Ming usually was, he would normally respond with a cold, three-word, "What's up?"
She could imagine.
When Zhou Luchen left, he was in an administrative motorcade accompanied by bodyguards. He shouldn't be out of contact.
Given Zhuang Ming's caution and constant presence, he should be safe, she thought, praying silently.
At this time, Xie Qinyang had just woken up in Beijing. Yawning, he replied, "Zhuang Ming, that guy, is a retired battalion commander from the military, with a monthly salary in the millions. The people United Bank assigns to him aren't that incompetent."
