As Lang Yan entered the room, he saw Mo Shangjun leisurely wiping her laptop screen.
She wiped it slowly, thoroughly clean; her earnestness made it seem as if she were about to rub the screen raw.
Lang Yan thus halted his steps, watching her intently for a few moments.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed that she was also holding a phone in her other hand, seemingly engaged in a telephone conversation.
"You've been deceived."
Mo Shangjun spoke indifferently.
At the same time, she lifted her eyelids, slanting a glance at Lang Yan.
Lang Yan, aware of his own guilty conscience but driven by curiosity, diverted his gaze and silently took a seat at his own desk, feigning busyness with the meeting materials.
Ya Tianxing, as if he hadn't heard, directly asked, "What does your mom like?"
"Knives, guns, swords, spears—she loves all eighteen types of weapons," Mo Shangjun replied nonchalantly, tossing a piece of paper into the wastebasket.
"That is quite impressive."
