The sound of a slamming door rang out, echoing in the corridor.
Mo Xiao lowered his eyes, glancing at the steaming stew on the table, without the slightest intention of eating.
He walked over, picked up the glass of wine, and headed for the terrace outside the French windows.
Under the night sky, his tall and erect figure seemed even lonelier.
He looked up at the crescent moon hanging in the night sky, a flickering glow in his eyes waxing and waning, hinting at his repressed longing.
Weiwei, please don't be so cruel to me in the next twenty years.
Please come back to me!
...
The next day.
Mo Xiao had always been punctual according to his biological clock. When An Zhonghui and others entered the dining room, he was already sitting there, flipping through a newspaper.
"Uncle!"
"Uncle Mo!"
Seeing An Yu and the others acting obediently, they respectfully called out.
