After hanging up, Li Tingshen didn't put his phone away immediately. Instead, he looked at the 54-second call history. There was no warmth on his cold face, and his eyes were like bottomless pits.
It was a long shot.
It wasn't that he didn't feel her anger just now, nor was it that he didn't notice her forbearance and disappointment. He could even imagine her lying on the table helplessly and aggrieved.
His eyes moved slightly. In the end, he put away his phone and turned to push open the library door.
Yin Ruijue was sitting on a chair in a black coat. The four-legged chair was balanced on the ground by his two legs, and he swayed unsteadily on the chair.
Seeing Li Tingshen walk in with a cold face, half of his body was sprawled on the table with a gossipy expression.
"Are we almost there?"
Li Tingshen glanced at him. "It's not her."
