Feng Qing's expression was cold, and her heart was already blazing with anger as she watched Rong Ling glance at a particular dish again.
She reached out with her chopsticks, made a sudden turn, and picked up a fish meatball, placing it onto the plate in front of Rong Ling. Just as the fish meatball was about to land on the small plate, Feng Qing's hand trembled, and the meatball dropped straight onto the small plate, causing the sauce in it to splatter everywhere.
Several drops of sauce splattered onto Rong Ling's outer robe.
In the main hall, the atmosphere suddenly became frigid, the temperature dropping several degrees from before.
Rong Ling slowly raised his head, his long phoenix eyes filled with a dangerous cold gleam. He spoke in a cold, heavy tone: "You did that on purpose."
This was not a question, but a statement.
Feng Qing sneered inwardly, but her face was full of sincerity.
