She walked into the empty lobby on the ground floor, a quiet space where only the gas lamps beat silently, giving life to the walls. She tugged at the front of her bathrobe, stared at the door not far from her, and then ran over. Before falling into a panic, she grabbed the doorknob and pushed it hard.

She was greeted by another darkness, a black wall that stretched endlessly, as if forming a bottomless pit, an endless space. She crossed the threshold and groped across the polished wall, hoping to get her hands on the light switch, praying that nothing would suddenly jump out and bite her.

A long minute passed, and she was unlucky not to touch the switch. But luckily, her hand was still attached to her arm.

She stepped into the darkness of nothingness, slowly approaching to the left until her body touched a large object. With the sound of hitting the brass handle and the lemon smell of wax, she surmised she was leaning against a chest of drawers. So she continued to grope her way forward until she found a lamp.

She snapped the switch, and with a slight opening and closing, the lamp lit up, and she blinked, adjusting to the sudden glare of light in the room. The base of the lamp is actually a Chinese Ming Dynasty-style vase on an ornately carved mahogany table. Obviously, this room is decorated in the same luxurious style as the upstairs.

After her vision returned, she looked up and looked around the room.

"Oh...... It's mine...... Oh my God. She couldn't help but blurt out.

The room was full of pictures of her. Black and white, color, large close-up, photos of all ages; From infancy, to childhood, to adolescence, to college. One of them was recently photographed, when she had just walked out of the Pattaya Express editorial office. She remembers the first snow of winter, looking up at the sky and laughing – just eight months ago.

At that turn of seasons, she actually missed the hope of knowing her biological father, which made Yan Xiaojing feel sad.

When did he die? What was his life like?

At least one thing is clear: her father has quite good taste and a great way of life. He was clearly fond of beautiful things, and decorated his vast private space with great grandeur: another masterpiece of the Pop School was elaborately framed in a set of gilded frames, hanging on a crimson wall, and the floor was covered with a Far Eastern carpet of blue, red and gold, showing a splendor no less than colored glass; The most impressive thing in the room is the handmade antique bed, with a dark red velvet drape draped from the top bedspread. On the bedside table on the left is a lamp and another picture of her, and on the right is an alarm clock, a book and a glass.

He must be used to sleeping on the right side. Yan Xiaojing speculated.

She walked over and picked up the hardcover book. It was a book in French, with a Time magazine underneath.

She put the books and magazines back on the bedside table, then carefully examined the glass, which still contained about two centimeters of water.

Unless someone else is sleeping here...... Or did her father just recently die?

She looked around, looking for suitcases or clothing that could prove that a guest was visiting. The mahogany desk at the other end of the room caught her attention. She walked over to the table and sat down in the throne-like chair, sunk into the carefully carved armchair. Next to the leather notepad is a small stack of papers, all of which are bills for the house: electricity, telephone, cable TV, etc., all with Nguyen Yuan Shou's name written on them.

It's really ...... It's ordinary. Because she also has these bills on her desk.

She couldn't help but look back for the glass that had been placed in front of the bedside table.

His life seemed to be interrupted suddenly, she thought.

Yan Xiaojing felt like an uninvited guest, but she couldn't resist the temptation of curiosity. She pulled open the drawer under the table, which contained several Montblanc pens, several longtail clips, and a stapler. She closed the drawer, pulled out the large drawer at the bottom, and rummaged through it, which was stuffed with various folders. She pulled out a random copy, which was the financial record......

Oh my god.

It seems that my father is a rich man, a real rich man.

She turned another page, full of accounts in millions.

She tucked the folder back and closed the drawer.

These riches are enough to explain the existence of this mansion, art, luxury RV and butler.

Near the telephone, there was a silver picture frame, also with her picture inside. She picked up the frame and imagined her father's expression as he looked at the photograph.

What about his photo? She couldn't help but think.

Can vixens take pictures?

She wandered around the room again, looking for and examining every frame, whether it was her, her, or ......

Yan Xiaojing bent down abruptly and picked up a golden photo frame with a trembling hand.

The black-haired woman in the black-and-white photo looks shyly at the camera. She covered the small half of her face with her hand, as if she was a little embarrassed.

These eyes, Yan Xiaojing thought suspiciously, were almost exactly the same as the pair of eyes she saw when she faced the mirror every day in her life.

This is her mother!

She gently brushed the glass of the picture frame with her index finger and sat down on the edge of the bed a little dazedly, moving as close to the frame as she could, but keeping a distance that would allow her to focus on the picture, as if being close to the photo would bring her closer to the distant time and environment, and bring her to the lovely woman in the photo.

That's her mother.

On the other hand, Mr. X is about the same.

Mr. X thought to himself with satisfaction as he carried an unconscious vixen civilian onto his shoulder. He carried the vixen out of the alley quickly, opened the trunk of the Toyota minivan, and threw the prey into the car like a bag of potatoes. Cautious, he did not forget to put a black woolen blanket over the goods.

He had long known that this intelligence-gathering system would definitely make some gains. This time, the change of anesthetic had a significant effect. His instincts made the right judgment and decisively adopted a horse anesthetic instead of an ordinary sedative for ordinary people, and replaced the previous Demoxedan with a more effective acepromazine horse anesthetic. Still, it took him two tranquilizer darts to take down the vixen.

Before getting into the car, he looked back again. The warbler he had killed was lying in front of the storm pipe, blood containing a large amount of falling down the drain. The lovely girl even offered to help him get a needle. Of course, she didn't expect that the needle tube contained 100% dropin, let alone that the dose of falline injected into her veins would be enough to stun an elk.