"Dean, it's true. I'm not lying to you!"
Qian Yang's voice was a bit agitated as he hurriedly took out his phone, opened Sang Ning's live-streaming channel, and respectfully handed it to Tang Yuanmao.
"Dean, look, there's video evidence. This time I'm being very meticulous, speaking with facts."
Tang Yuanmao brought his cup to his lips, took a sip of tea, and glanced casually at the phone.
He placed the cup down and his voice turned stern again: "This is what you call 'meticulous'? I suspect there's something wrong with your eyes—this is clearly a man!"
The camera happened to switch to Sang Chuan at that moment, showing him furrowing his brows tightly, biting his jaw hard, his face filled with deep-seated bitterness.
He was gripping the pen so forcefully that the veins on the back of his hand were bulging visibly, and the paper on the desk seemed on the verge of being torn apart.
"Huh?" Qian Yang froze for a moment.
