In just a moment, the previously tidy bedroom turned into a mess.
Qiao Mo slumped beside the sofa, hugging her knees and staring at her phone, unblinkingly waiting for a message from Xie Qinghuan.
Jing Hao... You will definitely be okay...
You are so kind, you will definitely be okay.
...
At this moment, Fu Nancheng stood with a stern face by the study window, holding a phone.
"Nancheng... Do you really want me to save him?"
The voice on the other end was calm and gentle, yet there was some indifference, unmistakably Qin Zhaoran's voice.
Fu Nancheng lowered his eyes, the veins on the back of his hand holding the phone bulging a bit: "Yes."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before speaking again: "Are you sure you're not wishing for his death?"
"No." Fu Nancheng still responded softly, his voice faint as he thought of Qiao Mo's tears, his gaze stinging a bit.
