Or was Mo Shichen, the man of the past, a competent and upright gentleman?
The response he got was Mo Shiqian's low, mocking sneer, "She is your woman, not mine. It's not my place to cherish her. Oh, a reminder—Wen Yi has been married to you for two to three years, and although your affection for each other has always been lackluster, she has miscarried twice for you, and she has lived like a widow for five years. To hurt her again for another woman… Are you even a man?"
Mo Shichen originally gazed at the distant horizon where sea and sky meet, but the ink-black pupils eventually underwent a change, like parched fields gradually developing crack after crack, rendering his eyes completely fractured.
He said nothing.
It wasn't until the other end of the call, Mo Shiqian, did not continue the silence but instead hung up, turning the quiet of the ear into the dial tone's droning sound.
After a long time, the hand holding the phone fell back to his side.
