In the small meeting room of the Mine Art Troupe, Luo Ye handed a damp towel to Wen Su: "Second brother, wipe your face."
"What kind of people are these?" Wen Su looked frustrated, thinking about what had just happened made him feel embarrassed. In his whole life, he had never been so embarrassed—being called a hooligan by an old lady nearly sixty. Seriously, even if he were a real hooligan, he wouldn't be that desperate, right?
"Second brother..." Luo Ye struggled to hold back a laugh, "How come you didn't even call when you came to see me?"
"And you still have the nerve to talk? How many times did I call you? Why didn't you answer? Am I that annoying to you?" Luo Ye's words finally gave Wen Su, who was irritated and had no place to vent, an outlet.
