"Rip," the box was violently torn open.
Upon a cursory glance at the content, her gaze slightly condensed.
An envelope?
The envelope was pure white too, devoid of any markings.
She tossed aside the box, picked up the envelope, and hastily opened it.
The contents scattered out, falling onto the carpet.
A piece of letter paper, and a photograph.
She reached out to pick up the letter, unfolding it to see the vigorous and powerful handwriting. The blank paper bore only one brief message.
— Jian Qing, do you want to see your mother?
Jian Qing's gaze turned cold abruptly, as she reached for the photo on the carpet, flipped it over, and her breath hitched.
What, what is this?
In the photo, the woman's sleeping face was serene, with a breathing apparatus still attached, her pale complexion not concealing her stunning beauty.
Despite the passage of time, Jian Qing would never forget this face, her mother, Jian Wei!
