Zhang Yuan admonished Su Nian and then peered out of the window again. The Maserati was still parked downstairs, but it was impossible to know what Zheng Haoyu felt inside the car.
In the Maserati downstairs, Zheng Haoyu had one hand casually resting on the car window. A cigarette was wedged between the slender and prominent joints of his fingers, which he occasionally brought to his lips for a puff. The smoke rings poured slowly from his mouth, and the car's ashtray was already crammed with cigarette ends. Zheng Haoyu didn't have his brow furrowed as he reclined on the car seat.
Now Zheng Haoyu couldn't help but want to slap himself twice. Was his mind muddled by the fever? How could he make such a mistake? How could he utter such beastly words? Regret spread in his heart, and his face was increasingly flushed. However, despite the autumn chill, his mind was clearer. As he looked up at the vacant window, he yearnt to apologize, but could not muster the courage.
