"I'm not its owner."
The tall and slender figure turned around, his brows and eyes exuding a cool indifference.
That cold and distant face, those deep eyes beneath the dark silk ribbon—
Rong Heng, why is he here?
Gu Lan's gaze moved downward, and immediately, he gulped.
At Rong Heng's feet lay a small cat drenched in blood, its life uncertain, beside it stood a pair of scissors gleaming with a cold light, and behind him stood a steaming iron pot.
His hands, with distinct joints, were covered in fresh blood, which dripped down, matching the youth's cold and indifferent expression, creating a rather terrifying scene.
Gu Lan's pupils contracted.
Oh my god, is this kid starving, planning to stew a big cat in the pot?
"Y-you-you... Brother Hang, if you're out of money for food, you could have told me. I could swipe a couple of bowls of noodles too. What good would stewing a cat do..."
