His heart was dim and desolate, yet it never changed. He wanted to help her fulfill her dreams, even resigning and returning to his country, letting go of so many excellent prospects, forsaking the Nobel Prize, all to help her. However, she had become like this—depraved, degenerate, filthy!
How could he not be furious? How could he not be disappointed?
The more Li Qingshen thought about it, the colder his gaze toward Ling Momo became.
The anger at the bottom of his eyes did not fade, but rather, it increased a bone-chilling coldness.
Two extremely contrasting temperatures violently intermingled at the bottom of his eyes.
He spoke, his tone sharp and piercing, tinged with a hint of disdain.
"Is this what you once discussed with me as your ideal? Your dream? Is this how you treat your ideals and dreams?"
"By selling yourself to gain fame?"
"Ling Momo, do you still have any bottom line as a person?"
