Lin Jingsheng held the album and stared at him coldly. This foul mouth of his was probably never going to change. Lin Jingsheng knew his temper and didn't bother saying anything. Chu Lin just liked teasing him; there was no real malice in it, and Lin Jingsheng knew that too. He wasn't truly angry, it was just that the album hid some of his humble longings and lightless deep feelings from his youth, now laid bare right in front of him, leaving him feeling somewhat like he wanted to sink into the floor.
"That was years ago. I was just saying it casually, why are you mad? How about you beat me up once?"
Lin Jingsheng looked at his half‑swollen face. The marks from the last beating hadn't even faded yet—if he hit him again, wouldn't that be too much? But every time Chu Lin got all cheap and cheeky, he just wanted to hit him, hit him until he couldn't take care of himself.
"You've seen what you came to see. You can go now."
