The air inside the car felt conspicuously cold and indifferent.
Song Qinghuan had many questions about Han Yinqian. She turned to look at the driving Shi Yuhuan, thought for a long while, then decided to ask, "Who is he? Did we know each other before?"
The light from the car window streamed in, casting a glow on Shi Yuhuan's sharp-featured face that was both handsome and upright.
His indifferent gaze focused ahead, hands steering the car, his look carrying a deep calm that seemed impenetrable as a quiet pond, "A friend."
He stopped talking after uttering those simple two words.
Song Qinghuan's dissatisfaction was evident as she pursed her lips, her face sinking, showing a lack of spirits.
See, she knew it would be like this, she thought to herself grumbling. Shi Yuhuan was always like this, whether good or bad, sayable or unsayable, he would always opt not to share anything with her.
