Yang Xuetong sighed and, while holding up the camera, said:
"The room is spotless; it would be tough to even find a single hair. Clothing, bedding, bathtub—cleaner than a hotel. We just collected the toothbrush, and some hair from a wooden comb, which doesn't look like that of a place left uninhabited for a month."
"Hmm, if only Zhou Xiaozhou were here. Mr. Yang, how can such a wealthy woman, living in an almost 300-square-meter apartment, rumored to own two more properties, possessing luxury cars, and not that old either, remain unmarried?"
Yang Xuetong looked at Mr. Zhao as if he were a fool and glanced at him.
"No wonder you can't find a partner, blurting out such nonsense. At thirty-eight, with money, property, cars, and a career, why would she need a man? To worship an ancestor? Is she lacking company, or is it for the thrill of life, perhaps to play palace intrigue with mistresses whenever she feels like it?
