Time flew by quickly, and before they knew it, it was six o'clock in the afternoon. However, the sun seemed to have forgotten to clock out, still hanging in the sky, casting light over the entire land.
In a hotel in Jiangzhong City, Yan Qingdi sat with a sullen face on the sofa in the living room. The whole room was filled with the pungent smell of tobacco, and the ashtray on the coffee table in front of Yan Qingdi was filled with cigarette butts.
All these cigarette butts were smoked by Yan Qingdi in the past two or three hours.
Since Qiu Ruoxi turned the tables, right after he called Lin Haoyu, Yan Qingdi's cigarettes hadn't stopped; he kept lighting one after another.
Even now, Yan Qingdi still held a cigarette between his fingers, which had burned down to the end and even singed his fingers, but Yan Qingdi seemed oblivious, his gaze as cold and deadly as a viper, fixated ahead, murderous intent clear as day.
