Having taken a seat by the table, Yang Mengchen said indifferently, "Yes."
"Could it be that after all these days of interaction, Ms. Yang doesn't have the slightest fondness for me?"
"No."
Hang Qingming's expression changed subtly. Was it anger in his heart? Or was it loss?
"May I ask who that person is, Ms. Yang?"
"To me, he is someone more important than my own life! To Young Master Hang, he is but a stranger; there is no need for Young Master Hang to know!"
"Where is he now?" Hang Qingming gritted his teeth. He wanted to see just who this paragon was that the young lady could not forget.
Yang Mengchen lowered her eyelids slightly, her lips pressed together without responding for a long time—a time so prolonged that Hang Qingming thought she would not answer—when he suddenly heard her faint voice, "He is no longer here." Her tone was low and broken, a melancholic and plaintive aura swirling about her, wrenching one's heart with sorrow.