"Are you two the ones heading to the Golden Crescent for infiltration?"
The blonde woman came over to them, scrutinizing them from head to toe as if appraising livestock.
Finally, her gaze settled on Song Heping's face.
It was only when she got close that Song Heping could see her skin was truly coarse, the golden white sweat hairs standing out like wheat in early spring under the sun.
Especially the very prominent features typical of Westerners, that tall, pointed nose made it feel like it could poke a hole in his face at any moment.
He glanced at Mist, whose expression was already that of a qualified stud horse. Song Heping thought that if it weren't in public, he would be already flirting with her.
Birds of a feather flock together, after all.
What he considered dark cuisine might look like a Christmas feast in Mist's eyes.
"Exactly, we are the main actors in this operation." Mist reached out his hand: "I'm Mist, and this is Song Heping."