"Mr. Jie, you have a call, and the caller specifically asked for you," Yao approached hastily, urgently handing over his mobile phone to Dan Hanjie.
Dan Hanjie took the phone without a word.
"If you want to see your son, come to me. For every minute you're late, I'll cut off one of his fingers."
A hoarse male voice came through the phone.
After the words fell, the call was cut off.
"..."
Dan Hanjie's eyebrows knotted tightly, his grip on the phone so strong he nearly crushed it.
"Beep beep—"
The notification tone of the phone rang out, and Dan Hanjie quickly opened it.
Besides an address, there were several photos of little Tingye.
The background showed a dark space, illuminated by a direct glare of an incandescent light on little Tingye, who was obviously uncomfortable, crying his lungs out.
His eyes and nose were red and swollen.
His little fists kept trying to cover his eyes, and his legs were uncomfortably curled up.
