The night was like ink, and the evening breeze blew past.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom Presidential Edition glided smoothly down the street, with Ye Fan gripping the steering wheel in one hand and holding his phone in the other, his expression resolute and indifferent.
On the other end of the phone, Ye Wenhao forcefully inhaled his cigarette, seemingly trying to anesthetize his complex emotions with nicotine.
"Dad, there's no need for you to get involved in tonight's matter," Ye Fan said.
After a few seconds, guessing that Ye Wenhao was in a dilemma, Ye Fan took the initiative to speak again.
"Mm."
Ye Wenhao hummed softly and hung up the phone first.
"Beep beep..."
Hearing the busy tone from the handset, Ye Fan also put away his phone.
In the back seat of the car, Pan Ying was as confused as a monk scratching his head, her face filled with bewilderment.
Pan Jueming looked excited.
