Meng Daxian and Avery looked at Zhong Xun who had hurried over, and their expressions were hard to say.
Zhong Xun hadn’t closed his eyes for forty-eight hours, and he was called by Meng Xingzhen’s phone after he had just arrived at the office and lay down for less than five minutes. When he came, he went to the toilet and wiped his face with cold water. At this moment, he scratched his messy black hair casually, with a tired look on his face: “What’s the matter?”
“I just wanted to tell you one thing.”
“Huh? You said.”
Meng Xingzhen handed over a partially enlarged film of the deceased: “Look at this.”
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