The expression on Wen Yi’s face disappeared, and he raised his eyes to look at her with an unclear look in his eyes, a kind of hesitant gloom.
Mo Shichen sighed, put his hand on the armrest of the revolving chair, leaned down, curled his lips and smiled, “Do you suspect that I have a game?”
“Doesn’t it make sense?”
Mo Shichen was silent, “I am really bad enough in your heart.”
“It’s not in my heart, it’s already bad.”
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