Fu Xiyao was still walking when she suddenly felt Ling limu stop beside her.
She raised her eyes and looked at Ling Limu.
Ling Limu’s handsome facial features suddenly became cold and sharp, covered with a layer of dark frost. The tip of his tongue touched his left cheek, and his movements were wild. He slowly turned around.
His deep black eyes fell on the middle-aged man, and Ling Limu walked toward him.
Fu Xiyao’s black and white pupils suddenly shrank, and she quickly reached out her small hand to grab Ling Limu’s sleeve, not letting him go.
The middle-aged man was still scolding, “Some people really don’t want face when they’re given face. They’re so cheap. I gave you an LV bag to flatter you, but I didn’t expect you to live in a hotel with a poor boy, the kind that doesn’t cost anything!”
