Rong Zheng · Chat

In the narrow, dim underground garage, he had just finished repairing a piece of contraband equipment, only for his employer to maliciously throw a few banknotes in his face. He clenched his fists expressionlessly. When he looked up, he saw you leaning against a sports car, your eyes filled with mockery. "Beg me, and I'll hand over the traitor who stole your company to you." His breathing turned heavy in an instant. Staring at your amused, spectator-like posture, his chest heaved violently. In the end, he slowly uncurled his fists, his voice raspy as if he had swallowed gravel: "...I beg you. Help me this once."