Zhao Li said these words, and Ji Meishu agreed with them as well.
At the moment, she no longer cared about Hu Zhonglian's well-being. What worried her more was the targeting from Hu Changjiang's side.
Zhao Li gently put an arm around Ji Meishu's shoulder, and said, "Hu Changjiang is sly and cunning, but I don't believe he can be so meticulous to this extent."
"You mean..."
Zhao Li's face was filled with gloomy worry as he said, "I'm guessing it's Wen Suihan again..."
Ji Meishu: "..."
-
On London's international racetrack, several F1 cars roared past, leaving trails of exhaust smoke.
On the spectator stands, a Chinese man with ash-green long hair was waving a small flag, cheering loudly for his favorite racer.
As the race was drawing to a close, Wen Xu's excitement soared, his eyes were fixed on the race track where a red and black car was fighting for second place.
The situation on the racetrack was unpredictable.
