Su Chenfei couldn't see Liao An's mother.
He was a mortal, unable to see souls.
But Su Chenfei looked around at the pomegranate trees and thought about the countless women and children buried beneath, killed before their time. He sighed and said softly, "Little Auntie, how can a child be happy if they aren't born into their parents' hopes and wishes?"
Liao An was such a child.
His father, Liao Yue, only aspired to become a dragon, despised women, and had no place in his heart for him. His mother hadn't willingly had a child with Liao Yue; under coercion, the sight of Liao An probably brought back terrifying nightmares to her.
Women are not birthing machines, nor should they be morally shackled by maternal love.
If Liao An's mother couldn't accept Liao An, how could he be happy?
He was unloved, unblessed.
Although Liao An was pitiable, his mother was even more so. Both mother and son were innocent and had done no wrong; they just encountered Liao Yue.
