Chonghui was hidden in the crowd, unlike the exhausted Nan Zhubin; even though Shi Chuxin was already out of danger, his gaze remained fixed on Old Mo.
After all, Old Mo still held a knife, and Nan Zhubin was at the innermost perimeter of the crowd.
But the moment Nan Zhubin spoke, he leapt out like a tiger hunting in the grass, pouncing in the blink of an eye.
Old Mo's knife was coming down; he gritted his teeth, restraining his fear, his eyes focused on his arm as if it were a dreaded target extending from his own body.
This clearly wasn't working.
Nan Zhubin took a great stride forward, planning his next move instantly.
"Old Mo, your wife is here!"
In just a moment, without thinking, it was purely a reflex.
Old Mo's eyes, filled with his own harshness, suddenly turned to panic.
Instinctively, he looked up towards the source of the voice—Nan Zhubin.
What met his eyes was a hand, thumb against forefinger.
——Snap!
