Rong Lan froze, seemingly unable to process what was happening.
"Little sixth, stop the car!"
Little sixth hurriedly stopped the car. Rong Lan was forcibly pushed out, and Little seventh followed him out. With a cold expression, Little seventh said to Rong Lan:
"The Young Madam isn't feeling well. From now on, please try not to appear in front of her."
Rong Lan stood there pale-faced, watching the car drive away. His hand clutched his chest, his lips tinged with a purplish hue, murmuring her name softly:
"Miao Miao, Miao Miao…"
Why does the heart hurt so much?
Clutching his chest, he slowly crouched down to the ground. The sky began to drizzle. He resembled a homeless man squatting there, lost in thought. He had lived for twenty-seven years, indulging in worldly pleasures, surrounded by debauchery, with beautiful women within reach, fulfilling his every desire.
He didn't have many days left. What he wanted now was so little—just a bit of warmth.
