Seconds later, He Chen sat on a barstool, one foot tapping the ground, toasting with a glass of Western liquor to Yin Mo, "The servant at the racecourse, is it Yun Lih?"
Yin Mo raised her head, her eyes harboring caution, "What do you mean?"
"Tsk." He Chen took a light sip and then, with a flick of his tongue, patted Yin Mo's cheek, "No wonder you've been of little use for so long, baby, your acting is too poor."
Yin Mo stepped back, turning her face away, and said evenly, "I don't understand what you're talking about."
He Chen scoffed sarcastically and pulled out his phone from his pants pocket, directly dialing Li Qiao.
After three rings, the call was picked up.
He Chen eyed Yin Mo as he switched on the speakerphone, his expression arrogantly cordial, "Sister-in-law, not asleep yet?"
"Looking for her for something?" A magnetic, rich male baritone sounded nearby the little bar.
Yin Mo cast a gloomy glance at He Chen, a sneer dangling from her lips.
