The air inside the safehouse was as heavy as a lead block.
Outside the window, the barren Gobi landscape of Northern Illiguo steamed and distorted under the scorching midday sun, mirroring the complex and unpredictable negotiations unfolding within, which concerned the fate of the future.
In his signature suave tone, Winslow uttered the keyword that Song Heping's team had fought hard for:
"Based on the fruitful history of our past cooperation and our shared expectations for future mutual benefits, Washington is willing to offer an unofficial but practically binding guarantee within specific circles...granting 'limited immunity' to you, Mr. Song, and your confirmed core members."
He paused, his sharp gaze piercing through his glasses, scanning Song Heping's impassive face as if trying to catch a glimpse of excitement or agitation.
