"But Miss Jianxi, I lied. I told him that the person who painted that picture was totally unsuitable for painting. At the very least, they would need eight to ten more years of practice before they could make it in the art world..."
Ming Wei rambled on and on, as if she wanted to count every single hair on Feng Huang's head out loud for her.
Jian Xi, fighting back the alarm in her heart, noted down every word of what Ming Wei was saying without missing a beat.
"Miss Jianxi, are you still listening?" Ming Wei finally finished, letting out a long sigh of relief.
"Are you done?"
"Done..."
Bang!
Jian Xi unceremoniously hung up the phone.
She hung up with decisive swiftness, cool and domineering. But after hanging up, she felt terrible.
She wrapped her arms around herself and slowly slid down the wall to the carpet, her mind in a daze.
She remembered!
That painting was indeed hers. But after she finished it, she had destroyed it, so how did it end up in Feng Huang's hands?
