"Gurgle, such a beautiful girl."
"Damn, that figure, truly freaking hot."
A few photographers who couldn't control themselves grabbed their SLRs and sneakily snapped a few photos of An Xi cat-walking in.
Man, these photos are perfect, could be used directly as covers.
"Who are you?"
The middle-aged man looked up coldly at An Xi walking over.
"Old man, are you asking me again?"
As soon as An Xi spoke, the middle-aged man nearly spat out a mouthful of old blood, and the surrounding male journalists couldn't hold back either, too vicious.
Old man.
"Who's your old man, don't call me that, I'm just over forty."
"Old man, don't rush, so if I don't call you old man, I won't, old man, were you the one calling the police?"
Old man.
That's even worse than being called old man.
The middle-aged man looked at the hot-bodied young woman with an ashen face: "Whether I call the police or not, what's it to you? Mind your own business and stay out of it."
