"If you wanted to kill us, you would have done it already. Why go through so much trouble to bring us here?" Jing Youlan scoffed. Even bound, she remained haughty, a pride unique to the Jing family; lifting her head towards the source of the voice, "Tying us up like this, what exactly do you want to do? Spit it out." What was their endgame? There was no need for this aimless dragging.
"What to do?" Hearing Jing Youlan's words, the other party's laughter continued, "It's for money, of course. What else could it be?" Such an obvious thing.
"Money." Zhou Yicen burst into laughter at that, "Can't you see that we are just a bunch of poor kids? Where are we supposed to find money for you?" The T-shirts they were wearing, as Yue Qiao had already pointed out, were only worth twenty or thirty yuan on the market—a price range they had never experienced before in their lives.
Dressed so cheaply and yet still mistaken for wealthy people. What kind of vision is that?
