Rong Lan's voice sounded somewhat hoarse, lacking energy.
A person who has lost their will to fight feels as if their life is in a countdown. He had indulged in wild nights, drank incessantly, played with women throughout the night, and even experimented with things he shouldn't have.
Yet, the emptiness remained—terrifying, yawning emptiness in his heart.
Even now, as he spoke on the phone with Qin Miaomiao, lying on the open-air balcony of the hotel, gazing at the thousands of glowing lights below.
Apart from the warmth brought by the voice on the other end of the call, the world before his eyes seemed cold and desolate.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Don't worry about me, I'll handle it myself."
