Li Xiaoyao arrived at the foot of Zhang Meng's building, and hiding in the darkness twenty meters behind him was a figure—it was Zhu Xiaoyue.
The residential complex where Zhang Meng lived was very old, and one could tell at a glance that Zhang Meng's family was not well-off.
Li Xiaoyao looked up at the second floor, towards the window of the room where Zhang Meng lived.
"Meng Meng."
Li Xiaoyao's voice wasn't loud, but it converged into a straight line, piercing through the window and directly reaching Zhang Meng's ears.
Zhang Meng had just returned to bed and was preparing to sleep when she suddenly heard this extremely familiar voice.
"Is it Xiaoyao, brother Xiaoyao?" Zhang Meng sat up abruptly, her face filled with disbelief, but then she chuckled self-mockingly.
It was now eleven o'clock at night, and Li Xiaoyao was in Ling City; how could she possibly hear his voice? It must have been an auditory hallucination, certainly.
"Meng Meng."
