Rolls-Royce Ghost backseat.
Jiang Mo sat quietly, leaning against the soft backrest, gazing slightly upward at the starlit ceiling.
The dreamy colors reflected in her equally dreamy eyes, and Jiang Mo suddenly recalled a popular quote online:
"The stars are scorching, you are the ideal on earth."
Technically speaking, this sentence made no grammatical sense.
But what Jiang Mo was pondering was whether what she was experiencing now counted as an alternative version of "stars" and "ideals."
Jiang Mo inexplicably wanted to laugh; she felt her mind was quite abnormal at the moment, no, she should say it had been since she went downstairs and got into this car.
She couldn't understand why Zhou Wang knew her whereabouts so well, even the details, but somehow none of that seemed important now.
She hadn't accepted the transfer yet, but sitting in this car was no longer a clear rejection.
