The sound of car horns was incessant on the road, but Jiang Ran felt as if everything had come to a standstill.
The milk tea he was holding in his hand went "splat" and spilled all over the ground.
And the secretary waiting across the street was stupefied.
Since when had Third Master Jiang of Shanghai City been treated like this?
With just a word from Jiang Moyuan, he could seal the fate of an entire minor family.
Who would dare to provoke him?
Jiang Moyuan looked at the cola stains on his clothes and the bank card that had fallen to the ground, his face terrifyingly cold, and his voice squeezed through clenched teeth, "Ying, Zijin!"
After sending the last message to Fu Yunshen, Ying Zijin put away her phone and slipped her hands into her pockets.
Her expression was indifferent, her brows and eyes wrapped in a chill, completely unaffected by the oppressive atmosphere radiating from Jiang Moyuan.
Jiang Ran narrowed his eyes.
