Mrs. Shaw's beautiful face was ghostly pale, her eyes, identical to Philip Shaw's, staring incredulously at her son, questioning him: "What have you done to my people?!"
Philip Shaw wiped the blood off his face with his fingers, revealing fair skin. His injuries were not severe, just some visible minor wounds.
At these words, he let out a soft, mocking laugh: "Your people? You're mistaken, they're all mine."
Mrs. Shaw was stunned again, her gaze at Philip Shaw becoming increasingly incredulous.
"You're wrong; it's not that my people can't find this place, they've always been beside you." As if not satisfied with the shock, Philip Shaw added.
It seemed that Mrs. Shaw understood something, her face growing more ashen, even her tall figure slumping, swaying as if about to collapse.
"When did you place people beside me?" Mrs. Shaw asked, "How many?"
Philip Shaw smiled slightly, "If I say all of them, you certainly won't believe it. I can only tell you, almost all."
