Yin Hun the Nineteenth was wearing a silver-gray suit. In the sunlight, his eyebrows and eyes were imbued with dazzling brilliance, and his blood carried an innate, exceptional nobility.
Standing on the steps, his figure appeared particularly tall and slender. His handsome face was always tinged with a slight indifference. "What is it?"
"Oh, young master, this masked lady insists on meeting you, saying it's something very urgent," Mike said.
Yin Hun the Nineteenth stepped down the stairs one step at a time and slowly walked to the entrance. The iron gate was not opened, and from behind the fence, he gave her a deep look.
"It's you again? Didn't you hear what I said last night? Go back; I don't want to see you!"
Just a single sentence was enough to shatter all of Tang Qingxue's hopes. She forced herself to withstand the inner pain, trying hard to encourage herself to be strong.
