Leng Qing glanced at the person on the bed, walked over and pulled the quilt up by her side, shaking his head. Another woman who doesn't know her limits.
Mo Nanjue had been standing on the balcony for a long time. Even after Leng Qing left, he didn't move. It was late, and the weather was cold. The man took a folded A4 paper out of his pocket and unfolded it before him.
He always carried this paper with him, habitually placing it in the pocket of his inner lining whenever he changed clothes.
It was a portrait of his face, drawn in pencil. Although it wasn't professional, it had to be said, the likeness was indeed quite accurate.
Around it, a lot of words were written in the form of speech bubbles.
[I, Mo Nanjue, am a beast!]
[I, Mo Nanjue, am not human!]
[I, Mo Nanjue, am in heat all day long!]
[I, Mo Nanjue, just love acting cool and arrogant!]
...
