"Sorry, Jiang Zhe," Wang Xue said with an apology that held no trace of regret.
Jiang Zhe clearly did not accept her so-called apology. Her beautiful, fox-like eyes lifted slightly at the tails in a gesture of defiance, "No need, just remember, it was your own choice not to let me replace him—Xiao Meng owes you nothing. Don't regret it."
Her attitude was nonchalant, as if no one present was worthy of her attention.
This pricked at Wang Xue's comfort, especially the last sentence which, to her, sounded like a thick threat.
What right does Jiang Zhe have?
She let out a sarcastic laugh and said, "What is there for us to regret? Every single one of us in the orchestra has been studying the piano and violin for over a decade, practicing diligently every day. After classes and papers, we still practice for an additional two or three hours, saving time even from our sleep, to ensure that we progress in both academics and art. As long as we work hard, there will be nothing to regret!"
