As the words fell, Yan Shuirou's delicate face twisted into a grimace.
Staring at Yan Xiaye for several minutes, she forced a smile through gritted teeth: "Yan Xiaye, if you think you can scare me into kneeling and begging you with such words, you're sadly mistaken!"
"Although I'm not particularly interested in whether you cry or not, I am curious to know why you're so confident."
Yan Xiaye's slender fingers gently tapped the table, her smile light and nonchalant.
The reflection of the two of them in the glass window beside them starkly contrasted Yan Xiaye's calm composure with Yan Shuirou's forced smile.
After half a minute of silence, Yan Shuirou barely managed to suppress the hatred in her eyes, lifted her chin as if it was only natural, and said slowly: "Between me and Beicheng, there's also Ya'er. This point alone is something you, Yan Xiaye, can never compete with."
