Ning Xia was stunned for a second, then she reacted, pulled the car door open, sat in, and closed the door behind her.
The car sped away with a whoosh, quickly vanishing into the night.
It was only when the figures of the reporters in the rearview mirror shrank to the point where they could no longer be seen that Su Zaozao turned her head to look at Ning Xia.
She sat there quietly, her delicate cheeks still tinged with pallor, her expression indifferent, neither happy nor sad, which only deepened the worry rising from the depths of one's heart.
"Ning Xia, are you okay?"
Ning Xia didn't answer, but simply shook her head lightly.
At that moment, Su Zaozao would have preferred if she had cried, made a fuss, or even shown signs of feeling wronged or sad, anything but this calm.
For it is only when one is heartbroken to the extreme that they lack even the strength to speak.
