The voice on the phone was hoarse and unpleasant to hear, as if someone was using sandpaper to grind wood, making an unusually dry noise.
However, Qin Heng would never forget the tone of her voice. He instinctively felt disgusted, and the corners of his mouth, which had been raised, also fell down. His mouth reacted much faster than his brain, and he subconsciously shouted in a low voice, "
"Why are you calling?"
The night bus that patrolled the city drove forward. The silence in the car was a little strange. No matter how low Qin Heng's voice was, the other people scattered around the carriage could hear it clearly.
He could feel that the people sitting in front of and behind him had their ears perked up and stopped what they were doing. They seemed to be staring at him impatiently, as if waiting to see when he would hang up the phone.
Those invisible gazes caused the hair on Qin Heng's back to stand on end, pressing against the innermost part of his clothes.
