A white cigarette traced a beautiful arc, only to be caught by a man who happened to be passing by, "Hey, Nanjue, what's got you so fired up now?"
"Get lost." The man's voice was cold.
Chen An sensed something wrong, and after walking over, he glanced at the tightly shut door and instantly understood, "You actually called him here?"
"Heart troubles need heart medicine, don't they? Isn't that what you said?" Mo Nanjue's face was the color of iron, clearly very displeased, "Or are you now going to tell me you were joking?"
