Chang Jiao never used to care, but now she couldn't help thinking more.
Xiao Yihe must have long been sick of her—not even willing to answer her phone calls. And yet, she kept reaching out like a fool. It was clear as day, but she hadn't even realized it.
Thinking of this, Chang Jiao sniffled, feeling aggrieved.
Xiao Yihe, having received no response from Chang Jiao, grew increasingly impatient. He wondered what kind of stunt this woman was trying to pull again and asked in a stiff tone, "What is it?"
"Why can't I call you if there's nothing wrong?" Chang Jiao blurted out. On the other end of the line, there was two seconds of silence, followed by Xiao Yihe's warning in a low voice, "I'm busy here. I don't have the time to play your games. If you really have nothing to say, I'll hang up."
His extremely cold voice tightened something in Chang Jiao's chest.
