Not long ago, Han Chengchi, who had been in a good mood, suddenly shoved the microphone into Su Jiaojiao's arms, turned with a grim face, and strode toward the door of the private room.
Su Jiaojiao was a bit puzzled as to why Han Chengchi suddenly changed his mood. She stood there holding the two microphones, lost in thought for quite a while before she belatedly followed him out.
Han Chengchi hadn't gone far; he was just standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, staring blankly at some unknown spot.
For some reason, Su Jiaojiao found Han Chengchi particularly frightening at this moment. She was so scared that she didn't dare to approach him.
Han Chengchi's hands in his pockets were tightly clenched into fists, his heart churned like stormy waves, and he felt like he could lose control at any moment.
Han Chengchi kept staring at one spot without blinking, allowing his mood to slowly calm down bit by bit.
