The room was pitch black.
Only a few faint rays of light barely penetrated the curtain's fabric, outlining the silhouette pressed against the wall.
The man had a standard square face, thick eyebrows, and big eyes, which should have appeared bold and imposing.
But at the moment, his face was pale as paper, with blood at the corner of his mouth.
Cold sweat beads gathered on his forehead, sliding down his temples, dripping onto the hand clamped like an iron vise on his throat.
Fang Cheng carefully observed the other's agonized, contorted features, a flicker of surprise in his eyes:
"How could it be you?"
The "enemy" he'd subdued with a single move turned out to be Chairman Shen's personal bodyguard from the East City Association.
His memory flashed back to the club's annual meeting six months ago, where he had a brief encounter with him.
At that time, the place was bustling, applause like thunder.
