The man chuckled lightly, "Then whose date are you?"
Qiao Mo was slightly stunned, unsure of how to respond.
"See, you're not speaking again. Alright, alright, I won't ask. Sing a song, sing a song..." The man handed the microphone to Qiao Mo and then addressed everyone, "Come on, let's give a round of applause. We must support the beautiful lady when she sings."
Soon, the room quieted down.
The eyes of both the men and women fell on Qiao Mo, seemingly eager to support her performance.
Qiao Mo looked at the microphone that was forcibly given to her, frowned, but showed no intention to sing, and calmly placed the microphone on the coffee table, "I can't sing."
As soon as she spoke, the man's expression turned somewhat sour, obviously unable to maintain his composure.
"Just sing anything," the man spoke again, with a hint of displeasure in his voice.
"I'm sorry, I really can't," Qiao Mo refused again.
