"Ning Yiyuan."
The same three words that came out of Yan Yiyan's mouth sounded very different, and they carried very different meaning.
He narrowed his eyes and stared at the man on the screen indifferently. Yan Yiyuan, who was sitting in the wheelchair, suddenly lost his elegant and gentle appearance. As his eyes trembled, they were tainted with an indescribable sense of danger.
Ning Yiyuan, who had a cold expression, ignored his sizing up. Instead, he swept his gaze behind him and landed on Mo Chu. When he saw the clear pinching marks on her fair neck, his eyes darkened!
His tone could not help but contain a hint of suppressed anger. With a faint hint of thunder, he said, "Young Master Yan, isn't your hand... a little too long?"
If it was too long, he did not mind chopping off a section for him!
