Li Wenhe said coldly, "Isn't it essentially just the evil of capitalism?"

If it weren't for his wealth, would Gu Xu have been able to help Lan Jing?

Mingzhuo: "It's as if you're not the evil capitalist."

If I remember correctly, this person also manages a company, right? Small-scale capitalism.

Li Wenhe couldn't refute it, and in the end, he could only sit there with a cold face and drink tea.

Gu Xu steered the conversation back on track: "The cliff to the west is a clue. I wonder if the ancient altar of the Nightfall Kingdom is there."

Mingzhuo picked up a piece of fish with the tip of his chopsticks and said with a smile, "Then let's go take a look tomorrow."

——

As night fell, the temperature dropped even lower, and the entire mountain village was shrouded in a layer of cold mist.

The sound of mahjong tiles being rubbed in the ancestral hall had stopped; all was quiet except for the whistling of the mountain wind.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the pitch-black night.

Old Huang hid behind a rock at the village entrance and glanced at the lights shining in the darkness.

Lights were on from the entrance of the ancestral hall to the courtyards of every household, illuminating the cold night.

The villagers couldn't bear to turn on their lights in the middle of the night.

Only city dwellers who are used to light pollution would be so delicate, needing to sleep with bright lights everywhere outside.

The villagers are so generous; they must have made a lot of money.

It's so unfair. They're so rich, yet they won't let him make a fortune too.

Soon, Old Huang laughed. The two sides wanted a pleasant cooperation? Dream on!

The tranquility of the village was shattered early the next morning.

"Blood! So much blood!"