The lingering heat of midsummer, the remaining noise of autumn cicadas, the light of autumn days shines through the window, falling on Jiang Jinsang.
The autumn light rolls at the edge of his watch, yet the refracted light is not as piercing as the sharp glint in his eyes, his lips slightly curled, when he looks at you, it's as if the entire world beneath his gaze contains only you.
If such an expression were one of love, you'd naturally feel like you own the entire world, but if his eyes were as cold as a frigid blade...
Indeed, the gaze is like a knife, capable of slicing the throat inch by inch.
Jiang Zhaolin felt as if something was blocking his throat, facing his ambitious nephew, suddenly there was a sense of decline and resignation to old age.
"Xiaowu—" His voice grew more weathered, his hands holding a cup, anxiously rubbing and warming them.
"I just want to see the child."
