Jiang Nanshu ran swiftly.
Lu Qingyan turned and bent down to pick up the notebook from the ground, its pages both moist and dirty with a musty smell.
But each passage in the front indicated it had been flipped through.
Lu Qingyan sighed softly, picked up the notebook, and, holding the dog cage, left.
He went to the kitchen, lit the stove, and tossed the notebook directly onto it. Flames danced in his dark pupils until all that remained was ash, then he turned off the fire.
As he passed the old housekeeper, a sharp warning glinted in his eyes, speaking slowly, "Who let you lock her up?"
The old housekeeper bowed slightly, his tone respectful, "Young Master, it was all an accident."
Lu Qingyan's dark eyes were cold as ice, his lips briefly curling into a mocking smile, "Don't make decisions on your own."
He walked on, "Clean up the trash inside."
The old housekeeper sighed quietly.
Young Master, have you really moved on?
