Under the setting sun's rays, the Old Task Force's jeep drove along the familiar street. It slowly advanced through the signs—hairstyling, supermarket, barbecue, foot bath, hotpot, police, clothing, and other signs that were hanging diagonally or missing.
Cars were randomly parked along the road, clearly ravaged by the elements. It seriously hindered traffic, but it didn't mean that the jeep couldn't pass through.
"It's still the same old." Shang Jianyao—who was in the backseat—sighed.
For some reason, a sentence that originated from the Old World's entertainment naturally surfaced in Long Yuehong's mind: "He lit a cigarette and started recounting his tale…"
The driving Bai Chen looked ahead and said, "It's getting dark. Where are we camping tonight?"
"The place from last time, of course!" Shang Jianyao replied before Jiang Baimian could. "We have feelings for it!"
His small speaker came from there.