"Enthusiastic citizen?"
"A well-meaning good person?"
Under Feng Mu's mask, the corners of his lips curled into an imperceptible cold smile, a sinister arc looming in the shadows, as if mocking the world's most absurd rhetoric,
"Do you even know what you're saying?"
Listening to the words beside his ear, Feng Mu felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if he had seen it somewhere before.
Hmm, where had he seen it?
Ah, he remembered, he saw it every morning when he looked in the mirror.
The blindfolded person before him, the way they spoke, the way they wrapped themselves in benevolence... was truly quite like him.
And when the Master of Ceremonies clearly enunciated the word "gift," the absurd sense of déjà vu in Feng Mu's heart instantly peaked.
It was like ice water pouring over his head, making every pore bristle with vigilant cold.
Like, too much alike!
Was he not also someone who habitually prepared gifts for his "friends" with great care?
