The Real Business?

Iron Blood brought Tong Muxue to the "urban village" in central Shangjing. Green trees lined the way, and the buildings were mostly detached little courtyards and siheyuan, none more than two stories tall.

There weren't many people on the roads, and their clothes lacked the splendor one would expect in Shangjing. They were very plain and simple.

Beneath the bright sunlight, children could occasionally be seen playing on the dirt roads. From time to time, there were also vendors selling all kinds of things, including candied hawthorns, donkey-meat sandwiches, shaved ice, and fermented mung bean juice.

Beneath the willow trees, several elderly men had gathered.

Two people played chess while several others watched. The atmosphere was tense, yet filled with laughter and playful arguments.

The elderly people practicing Taiji gathered in groups of three or five. Though they were advanced in years, their gestures still had a certain imposing presence and grace.

By now, Du Dan had briefly explained the three major Death Game organizations led by the Chinese to Tong Muxue. As Tong Muxue considered it, she observed everything in the "urban village" and murmured to herself, "Ordinary people can't come to a place like this."

As they approached the area, the vehicle Tong Muxue was riding in had already passed through three security checks.

The passersby and vendors along the way weren't as simple as they appeared, either. Tong Muxue could tell from their restrained sharp gazes, the unconscious combat-ready movements they made as they gestured, and the thick calluses on their hands that they were either professionally trained or experienced fighters.

To be honest, Tong Muxue was very good at reading people. She could tell that Du Dan and Iron Blood weren't bad people, and they had even saved her.

But they had only just met, barely