Seven years later.
Haochen Group, top floor, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the CEO's office.
A tall and upright figure stood with his hands behind his back.
In the setting sun, the man was inexplicably cloaked in a sense of solitude and desolation.
Zhang Minghui pushed the door open and entered. When his gaze fell on the man in front of the window, a flicker of an unusual emotion appeared in his eyes. "CEO, we've just received news that Qingqing's flight back to G City is at six tonight."
He thought that upon hearing this news, Mo Ziye would immediately turn around in surprise.
However, Mo Ziye did not move.
His tall figure remained in the previous position, his gaze fixed outside the window at some unknown point.
Ever since four years ago, when Qingqing went abroad.
Mo Ziye seemed to have changed into a different person. From the once sunny and handsome favored son of heaven, he had become a cold-hearted, reticent man who cherished words like gold.
