She scratched her head and smiled shyly.
"Are you here for the funeral?" she asked.
He nodded and said yes.
Graceful as a clear breeze and moonlight, transcending the mundane and untouched by the world, these words perfectly described Zhou Qingrang.
Although they were not close, Zhou Xufang had a good impression of him and took the initiative to introduce herself: "My name is Zhou Xufang."
"I also have the surname Zhou." Leaning on a cane, his right foot slightly lame, he walked very slowly. He also gave his name, saying, "My name is Zhou Qingrang."
"I know."
Previously, for a task, Zhou Xufang had Shuangjiang look into him, and she found an excuse: "I've seen the news you broadcast."
The two had already reached the entrance of the memorial hall.
Zhou Xufang stopped: "I have to wait for someone, I won't go in."
Zhou Qingrang said okay, then went in alone.
When Luo Qinghe saw him, his face changed: "What are you doing here?"
