Dusk was like a piece of velvet soaked in ink, slowly draping itself over the green hills on the outskirts of Magic City.
At the end of the winding mountain road, the red lanterns of Old Yang's Farmhouse lit up. The scent of rapeseed oil drifted for miles, kneading the daytime clamor into the warm bustle of ordinary life.
William pushed open the car door, his leather shoes crunching over the gravel in the courtyard with soft, crisp sounds.
He swept his gaze over the farmhouse's wooden sign, confirmed that nothing was amiss, and made a gesture to the nine people behind him.
The ten "Knights of the Round Table" were all dressed in casual clothes, but the edges of tactical vests peeked faintly from beneath their collars, utterly at odds with their deliberately relaxed expressions.
After all, their mission was to capture Hua Qiang and bring him back home. There could not be the slightest mistake.
"Eat first. Rest up, then move tonight."
William lowered his voice, though a trace of barely detectable tension lingered in his tone.
The others nodded and filed into the hall.
It was mealtime. Four or five tables of diners filled the hall—families with children and young people who had come in groups. Shouting from finger-guessing games and bursts of laughter rose and fell, while the crisp clink of enamel bowls mingled with the sweet aroma of braised pork, easing their taut nerves considerably.
Old Zhang Tou, the waiter, came trotting over with a white towel draped over his shoulder.
"Bosses, what would you like? Our free-range chicken soup and braised local pork are house specialties, and the wild vegetables were just picked from the mountain behind us!"
William took the menu, skimmed it quickly, and casually ordered seven or eight substantial dishes.
"And