The boy should be one of the older ones and had been holding it in. At Xing Shu's question, he could not hold it in anymore.
Xing Shu hurriedly went in and saw the 70-year-old director—Feng Daxiang—sitting on a chair in the hall. His arm was bandaged and he was comforting a few frightened girls.
"Director," Xing Shu called out.
Feng Daxiang's eyes lit up when he saw Xing Shu. "Xing Shu, why are you here?"
Xing Shu choked. There was a bouquet of roses on the windowsill of the welfare home's main hall. This was the director's habit. The empty space behind the welfare home was filled with roses and there were fish feeds in the pond. This paradise was the purest utopia in Xing Shu's heart. Therefore, Xing Shu was willing to sign the agreement with Chen Ru and donate most of her salary, for the sake of the welfare home. She would leave only just enough—for her living expenses—for herself.
