At the entrance of Qingbo Street, it was silent.
At some point, the figures walking hurriedly on the long street disappeared without a trace, as if they had been deliberately cleared.
The burly coachman stood on the shaft of the carriage and held his saber as he bowed to An Le.
There was no killing intent in the atmosphere. Instead, there was a hint of helplessness.
An Le held the yellow wine and beef and looked indifferently at the coachman who was bathed in starlight and carrying a knife at night. He frowned slightly.
He looked at the carriage behind the coachman. "Luo Qingchen wants to kill me? Is he in the carriage?"
The burly coachman, Zhu Shan, looked up with a bitter expression. "Young Master An, don't worry. Sir is not in the carriage."
"He doesn't know about my visit either."