Rong Ling stepped out of the study and paused as he passed the master bedroom door. He squinted his eyes at the tightly closed door, a trace of a dark light flickering in his eyes.
He entered the living room, and Song Qingge stood up from the sofa, approaching him, "Third Brother, are they in the study? How could they just leave us behind and not care at all?"
Rong Ling arched an eyebrow at her. Even though Song Qingge had struggled in the workplace for several years, a wealthy young lady was still a wealthy young lady, still unaware of how to hide those slight traces of her own scheming.
"Third Young Master is hungry. Please trouble Miss Song to send some snacks in," said Rong Ling, his tone smooth and traceless. In his view, Song Qingge was a million times better than Wei Anjing; at least Song Qingge's intentions toward the Third Young Master were genuine.
Song Qingge's heart leaped with joy, and she nodded promptly, "Alright, I'll go prepare."
