Who was interrupting him at such a critical moment?
He Xing's expression turned cold, and he groped around for his phone but couldn't find it. The piercing sound relentlessly chased him, nearly making his ears explode. He frantically searched everywhere for his phone.
Today, he was wearing a black woolen coat that reached his ankles, a very simple classic style that looked even better on He Xing. The contrast of black clothes and white snow couldn't be more classic. The black wool had only two side pockets, but no phone within.
"He Xing, what's wrong?" Fu Han's voice came over, low and ethereal, as if across thousands of miles.
A sense of unease arose in He Xing's heart, and he hurriedly looked up at Fu Han.
The bonfire in the distance still crackled, with flames leaping on top, crimson as blood. Yet up close, Fu Han's face began to blur, as if a translucent veil hung between them.
