The next afternoon, Yan Luoxi lugged her bag and entered Tian Lingyun's studio with no energy, violently collapsing onto the sofa and spacing out with a pillow in her arms.
Tian Lingyun looked up from her computer. "What's wrong? You look as wilted as a frost-bitten eggplant," she said.
Yan Luoxi's gaze was fixed blankly ahead. "Sweetie, can I skip tonight's wrap party?"
"What do you think?" Tian Lingyun narrowed her eyes, absolutely dedicated to her work. It was precisely her professionalism that made her studio increasingly successful, so she wouldn't permit any laxness in matters concerning Yan Luoxi's responsibilities.
Of course, once in a while, it was permissible.
Yan Luoxi rubbed her brows, sensing the danger in her voice, and resignedly said, "I understand."
Tian Lingyun stood up and walked over. "You were fine when you went home last night. What's with the sudden strike?"
