When Mo Feng saw the elegant handwriting on the first page, his indifferent expression suddenly dropped, and he instantly looked a bit unpleasant.
He lifted his gaze, looking at Gu Nanqiao in confusion, "This is Qingcheng's handwriting. Where did you get this notebook?"
"How I got it is not important," Gu Nanqiao's brow did not relax. "What's important are the things recorded inside. You'll know once you read it."
Mo Feng stared at the diary, and a feeling of inexplicable panic rose in his heart.
Suddenly, he didn't dare to flip it open.
Maybe he knew that there might indeed be truths inside that he hadn't been aware of for six years.
Moments buried and sealed by time surged into his heart like a bluestone, heavily blocking his chest.
"There aren't many entries, but they're very crucial. I suggest you read it slowly." Gu Nanqiao reached out and pointed to the chair beside him, "Sit."
