Mo Shiqian's gaze flickered for a moment.
Her eyes were still red, the tear stains on her face had yet to dry, but her voice remained calm and clear, tinged with accusations and self-mockery, and perhaps mockery towards him as well.
His heart twisted slightly.
It wasn't a very profound feeling, but it was persistent and impossible to ignore.
After about five or six seconds of silence, the man still gently curled his lips, "What foolish things to say," he squinted his eyes slightly, his fingers continued to wipe her tears, "Once dead, one is just dead. Even if you were to pay with your life, he won't come back. What's the point in that, tell me?"
Perhaps because she had been crying, her vision was somewhat blurry, and there was a lingering choke in her voice, "Then why do you insist on bothering me?"
Hate?
Hate enough to harm the family he originally had?
Is this hate that important?
Mo Shiqian shouldn't be such a person.
