The air in the room seemed to gradually become stagnant, a heavy and chilling pressure felt with every breath. The underground trade agent, nicknamed "Iron Hand," sat tightly on a chair. Beside him, vibrant propaganda posters on the wall displayed that small resistance that occurred at the bottom of the Iron Nest, customized by votes from upper-level viewers. The circulation system blew fresh airflow but couldn't dispel the fog in the heart.
"Is Old Qiao the only one who contacts you?" Luo asked leisurely.
"... Only him," Iron Hand answered hesitantly, as if an invisible observer was right there in the room. "Moreover, I didn't know at first it was his people. I thought it was you..."
Luo directly interrupted him, "When was your first cooperation?"
Iron Hand leaned back in the chair, with a struggling expression but still answered the question, "Terran Calendar, about four years ago."
Luo raised an eyebrow.
