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... urse!” Sang Nanfeng withdrew his gaze from him, not even glancing at the disheveled Fu Xing, and strode directly out the door.
The sky was gloomy, and his heart was equally dark. He hadn’t come all this way in the middle of the night just to deal with some minor issue involving an artist.
It was because the artist who had hit someone was Sang Qiao’s artist. He wanted to see Sang Qiao.
Sang Nanfeng couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had last seen her. He could ...
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~ Postscript, many years later