The No. 72 Airport Pier on this day was like the starry sky above everyone's heads, a galaxy of brilliance. Each star was shining, yet no one could see with the naked eye how close or far these stars were from them, not knowing their positions or their connections with each other, nor understanding where they would head in the infinite movements and changes of the universe.
Francis was assassinated, Hastings was gravely ill, and at this moment, Feiyang was a chess game that even a supercomputer couldn't calculate.
Fatty stood next to Hastings, dressed sharply, with a faint smile on his face, his eyes determined and sharp. The vulgar Fatty with a flushed face and a reckless demeanor in the bar twenty minutes ago had disappeared. Now he was a soldier beside Hastings, meeting everyone's scrutinizing gaze, occasionally with a hint of arrogance at the corner of his mouth.
