Fu Nancheng's face immediately turned dark, his black eyes tightly locking onto the woman in front of him.
But Qiao Mo just laughed, her smile radiant and dazzling.
Suddenly, the force with which Fu Nancheng grasped her arm lightened a bit, and his thin lips parted slightly: "Do you still like him?"
Qiao Mo looked at him mockingly, chuckling softly: "Like him? Of course, why wouldn't I? He's gentle, considerate, young, and talented. Why wouldn't I like him?"
His phoenix eyes slightly narrowed as he slowly curled his lips: "Really? He's lying on a hospital bed now, unable to move, and you still like him that much?"
Qiao Mo was momentarily stunned, her smile froze on her face.
She couldn't laugh anymore.
"What did you say?"
A trace of cruelty flashed in his gaze, and he laughed lightly: "Don't you like him? Do you like him because he can sing? Or because he can paint? Or... just because of his face."
Qiao Mo looked at him with reddened eyes, clenching her teeth tightly.
