Sheng Shijing felt much better after confiding in his dear sister. After finishing his meal, he settled down to read quietly.
Though his mother's tearful complaints still echoed in his ears, he didn't have much of a reaction.
'Just as Jiaojiao said, Mom knew I was seriously injured, yet she still came crying to me. Does she even have a conscience?'
'How could my mother be so heartless!'
'It was just that all her attention was focused on her daughter. Their family had plenty of boys, so she simply didn't care as much about her sons.'
'If Jiaojiao hadn't pulled me back from the brink of death, the grass on my grave would already be overgrown. What was the point of holding a grudge against my mother?'
If he didn't call home, his mother couldn't find him. Before, his brush with death had left him yearning for the warmth of family.
But his mother's incessant wailing was like a basin of cold water, extinguishing the flicker of longing that had just begun to form.
