For fuck's sake, which bastard is calling me now? Yan Bing's hand froze around his phone, still holding it in the posture of someone on a call. He had looked so convincing, his expression so smug, but it all collapsed in an instant.
Holy shit, what an actor! Several of the guests nearby were foreigners. They could not understand what he had said, since he had spoken Chinese, but even an idiot could tell he had supposedly been on the phone.
Fine, make your phone call, but why act so serious and smug about it? Now look-your phone's ringing. What the hell was that?
What the hell? Qin Fen wore a strange expression. This happened all the time-the guy had been pretending to make a call. The Queen Mother was a little confused, though Yan Bing looked vaguely familiar to her.
Feeling the eyes all around him, what could Yan Bing possibly say? Admit that he had deliberately pretended to get through to save face in front of his subordinate? His main concern now was how to get past this. It was so fucking embarrassing.
Indeed, the young man stared at his boss, aching to ask, What exactly are you playing at?
What was he playing at? Yan Bing wanted to figure that out himself. His analysis had clearly been sound, so why had Scarface hung up on him? This made no fucking sense!
Scarface switched off his phone and chuckled. "Keep calling, will you? I'll change my SIM card when I get back. Call my fucking ass!"
"So we're just ignoring this guy now?" Mole asked, a little worried.
"Why bother with him? He really thinks he's somebody. Better to work with someone we know than someone new. Master Qin alone is all the big business we need!" Scarface