A voice, cool and distant, made him widen his eyes a bit more, as if that were the only action he could perform at the moment. Everything else was beyond his ability to do.
"You are..."
Cheng Yuncheng's voice was hoarse. Unused to speaking for so long, he almost frightened himself with the sound—why was his voice so unpleasant? Was this rasping, grating tone truly his? He knew his voice well; it was supposed to be quite nice, and he could sing beautifully. Back in middle school and high school, everyone praised him as the "Prince of Love Songs." Although in university, where talents were plentiful and many had lovely singing voices, he still felt his was the best. But whose voice was this now, jarring as if from the clanging chaos of scrapping pots and pans for sale?
Even he detested it, let alone anyone else.
"You're asking who I am?"
