Lu Lingche's face immediately darkened, the warmth from moments ago seeming like nothing but a figment of Qiao Yin's imagination as he said coldly, "I think it's not just your face that's injured, but your brain too, liking a useless person!"
His displeasure made Qiao Yin happy. If she could anger him enough to leave, that would be perfect. So she doubled down and said, "What's wrong with liking a 'useless person'? I just like him. You might be a genius, but does anyone like you?"
Lu Lingche's face turned an iron blue, his voice cold as ice: "Shut up, don't talk anymore. My patience is limited."
In the dim light, Qiao Yin's voice held a trace of brazen fearlessness, "What, President Lu, are you going to hit me?"
"If you want, I can accommodate you."
"Even if you hit me, I won't retract my words. I just like Gu Jing."
"The wounds on your face haven't healed yet, and you've already forgotten who hurt you? And you still like him?"
