But he didn't.
He never intended to harm her.
Mo Feng sat down on the sofa opposite her, took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it.
White smoke rings rose, enveloping him, blurring his deep features.
Mo Feng took two puffs of the cigarette and suddenly asked, "What kind of person is Huo Jingting in your heart?"
"Better than you." Gu Nanqiao replied coldly.
"Heh," he chuckled lightly, flicking the ashes into the ashtray beside him, "perhaps, after you fully understand what kind of person he is, you won't say that."
"..."
He sat up straight, his deep eyes staring right at her, "Gu Nanqiao, if you're interested, I might as well tell you a story."
"What story?"
"It's about six years ago." Mo Feng's eyes were sometimes deep, sometimes clear, making it difficult for her to guess, "After hearing this story, you'll understand what kind of person he is."
Gu Nanqiao hesitated for a moment but didn't go upstairs. Instead, she sat back down on the sofa.