The ward was very spacious, with intricately patterned parquet flooring, full-length windows and a ceiling with a design that resembled fog.
On the side of Ye Xingfei's hospital bed was a set of expensive leather couches, and a man was sitting on it. His fur coat was casually hung over his forearm, while he, dressed in a figure-hugging black shirt, sat quietly at the window smoking a cigarette.
Xia Ling came to a sudden stop. In the next few seconds, her mind was a blank.
He turned his head around and examined her without batting an eyelid — high and mighty, just like an emperor.
She took a few steps back, abruptly turned herself around and reached for the door. It was as if the thick, sturdy door had planted roots in the ground, it didn't budge a bit no matter how hard she pulled. She knocked herself against it a few times, and then Pei Ziheng's voice came from behind —
