The pivotal question is, what has provoked Mr. Tang, known for his icy exterior but passionate heart, to such a towering rage?
Tang Baijin lit a cigarette, his face etched with desolation amidst the morning breeze.
The smoke from his fingertips silently dispersed.
It was as if the smothering sorrow, dense and indissoluble, permeated this ostensibly bright yet oppressively dull summer morning.
His phone lay shattered among the bricks; Tang Baijin didn't even glance back at it, but turned to leave instead.
"Mr. Tang…" A worker called out to him.
Tang Baijin looked back, fixing his gaze on him: "What is it?"
The worker pointed to the discarded phone: "This is your phone, isn't it? If you don't want it, can I have it?"
Tang Baijin did not respond immediately, not even sure himself how much force he had used to smash his phone into whatever state it was in now!
