Along the route leading to the airport, a fleet of five vehicles drives towards the airport at a uniform speed.

Leng Zhao holds an iron box tightly in his hand. In three hours, he can deliver it to Hong Kong, and the East China Sea will never have anything to do with him.

"Erye, Leng Ye's telephone."

"Take it over!" Cold omen with a smile on the corner of his mouth. "Brother, I'm on my way to the airport."

"Is it cold around you?"

"The little lady is in another car."

What did the other party say after they were silent, laughed coldly and hung up the phone.

"Huh, immortal...