Ning Fan didn't leave but took out his phone from his pocket, thought for a moment, and dialed a number.
After a few ringings, the call was connected.
On the other end, Mo Chengjiao was somewhat puzzled; this was his private number. Usually, nobody knew it apart from those he recognized, but the number showing on the screen was unfamiliar.
After some thought, he still murmured into the phone, "Hello?"
"Old Mo, long time no see." Ning Fan said cheerfully.
At the sound of this familiar voice and the familiar term of address, Mo Chengjiao's body shock violently, and he suddenly stood up from the sofa.
"Nine, Ninth Master, is it really you?" Mo Chengjiao was very excited.
Ning Fan had actually called him.
"Yes, it's me," Ning Fan nodded, "Cut the crap. Your son is with me now; come and pick him up."
"What?" Mo Chengjiao was startled, then his face turned pale, "What happened?"
Why would his son be in the Ninth Master's hands?
