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Chen Chuan turned around and saw a person behind him.
The man seemed to have walked out of the shadows. He wasn’t exactly tall and wore a military overcoat. By his waist was a short sword with a silvery-white sheath. He had a square face, tanned skin, thick, messy hair, and ruthless eyes.
Chen Chuan compared the man to the photos of the people in Fort 285 and identified him as Fei Tong, the Third Limit martial artist serving as Fort 285’s sentry.
“I knew from the beginning that you were behind this, not some anomaly.”
Fei Tong narrowed his eyes at Chen Chuan. “Is that so? How did you know?”
“When I was in the office yesterday, I found this torn-up page.” Chen Chuan produced the fixed page and showed it to Fei Tong.
“This is from your personal journal. The lines here are really jumbled, and the words make no sense. You seem to want us to think you lost your mind.”
Fei Tong took a look at the page before asking, “Was I not convincing enough?”
“You were convincing, alright, but that’s all there was to it....
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