The voice was low and mellow, like the thrum of a cello, steady with a hint of elegance. And so familiar.
Mao Beibei's whole body tensed, and in the next second, a hand reached out from the darkness, grasping her slender shoulder.
Her nerves were already on edge, and the sudden touch made her cry out in alarm. Instinctively, she drew a knife and slashed wildly.
"Tear—" A soft sound of ripping echoed, and the blade obviously cut into that person's skin. However, the hand on her shoulder didn't loosen; on the contrary, it tightened its grip.
At the same time, the sharp knife in her hand fell into that larger hand.
The man's face drew close, almost nose to nose with her. Beibei took a deep breath and finally saw his features clearly.
"Rong Yan?"
It was him?!
At the sight of the man's face, she loosened her breath, then caught it again. How did he find her?
