Without confirming or denying it, silence spoke volumes. In a way, it was an admission.
Zeng Mao set down his wine glass, picked up the remote, and muted the television. Then he turned to Yang Chen and asked, "Since you knew it was poisoned, why did you drink it?"
"It's like how you think I shouldn't have come, but I came anyway. Same principle."
"How do you know I didn't think you should come? I opened the door and welcomed you in," Zeng Mao countered, clearly disagreeing.
Yang Chen shifted in his seat to get more comfortable on the sofa before speaking. "If you thought I should come, you would've pointed a dozen machine guns at my head and riddled me with bullets the moment I got out of the car. That would've been a fitting tribute to your foolish dead grandson, wouldn't it?"
