Xi Mohan remained motionless, his tall and straight figure presenting an imposing presence as he stood before Song Qiao. His gaze shifted slightly and he looked through the door's glass window into the hospital room. In truth, he couldn't see anything because of the viewing angle; all that was visible was a wall. Yet, it was as though he had seen the woman lying in the room; his thin lips twitched slightly, and in a deep voice that seemed to overflow from the depths of his throat, he asked, "How is she?"
Song Qiao, frowning at the man before her, couldn't restrain the impatience on her face and responded coolly, "She is fine. But Xi Mohan, you should know that she doesn't want to see you. If you could be a bit more benevolent, could you please not show up in front of her in the future?"
The expression in Xi Mohan's eyes darkened considerably, but he remained silent and unmoved.
