When Qiao Jingchen heard these words, the phone slipped from his hand, falling onto the sand, and on the other end was his father's lonely and desolate voice.
"Jingchen, is this what you wanted? Now, I regret it to death too."
Qiao's father's voice was carried away by the sea breeze.
Unknowingly, tears were streaming down Qiao Jingchen's face.
He wiped his face randomly, and when he picked up the phone again, it had already been hung up.
He picked it up and called Zhuang Yuezhou.
"Zhuang Yuezhou," Qiao Jingchen exclaimed urgently.
There was Zhuang Yuezhou's indifferent voice on the other side: "What is it?"
"Did something happen to her?" Qiao Jingchen asked again.
"I don't know who you're talking about." Zhuang Yuezhou remained cold: "If you're asking about Aunt Fu's matter, I'm just here handling the aftermath, Aunt Fu passed away in a car accident."
Qiao Jingchen immediately felt as if his breath had stopped.
"Really?"
