Tang Ziyi began casually—light conversation, harmless questions, warm smiles. It was the type of chat one might have at a café or on a long train ride. To Ms. Murong, it was a transparent tactic: lowering her guard, building a false sense of rapport.
She braced herself for a long interrogation, fully intending to drag it out. It wasn't guilt that made her wary—she had done nothing wrong, or so she believed—but she could guess what Spirit Fox wanted: leverage, intel, the missing thread that could pull apart something far bigger.
But she wasn't going to play along. She had come to Province N on a quiet, personal trip—nothing more. The firearm, while questionable, was a necessary habit for someone in her line of work. She had friends here from high school, people who knew nothing about her life now—only that she had become wealthy. No one asked how. No one knew the price.
