Ji Chengzhou's gaze was icy as he looked at Sang Qian, "As you see, a wrist-cutting suicide."
Sang Qian's body jolted suddenly, and when she looked again towards the person on the hospital bed, there was no mistake—the person lying there was indeed Shen Zhiqiu, who had attended last night's award ceremony.
No wonder there were so many people standing guard outside. Not a whisper of this news had leaked to the outside world; it seemed to be completely sealed off.
"There's no need for me to state the reason, right?"
The man's low, cold voice rang out again.
Sang Qian, looking at Ji Chengzhou's piercing, icy eyes, didn't understand what his words really meant.
Did he know about her tampering with the gown, or was he just asking out of routine?
She automatically chose the latter, "I've also seen the news online. Is it because she couldn't withstand the pressure from public opinion that she became desperate?"
