...
Buzz—
Warm water flowed from the faucet, washing over Yang Ming's fingertips. Next to him, the online terminal was still broadcasting a critic's scathing commentary on the White Ghost, filled with rhetoric similar to that of the No. 3 Dismemberer.
Most of the time, Lyu filtered out these trifling, chaotic voices to avoid bothering Yang Ming.
Today, Yang Ming listened in and found it... quite amusing.
What kind of moral coercion genius is this?
Helping the Empire, even if his motives weren't pure, contributed tangibly to the Empire; then because he didn't give "a hundred percent dedication," they'd label him a criminal?
"Go to hell," Yang Ming cursed inwardly.
At that moment, a trace of thought flashed across his eyes but quickly disappeared.
Someone had arrived.
The sound of the water seemed to slow, Yang Ming's breathing grew a bit heavy, and he gently shook his head, wondering what was happening to him. He looked up at the mirror and quickly turned away.
