Old Ling raised his hand, shaking all over with anger, a level of rage and sorrow he had never felt before.
Because his grandson had torn open the deepest and most unbearable wound in his heart.
And seeing the resentment in his grandson's eyes only added to his immense pain.
In the end, the old man said nothing; his face etched with the sorrows of time, still bore the indelible mark of grief, yet he stood tall with the posture of a soldier, step by step ascending the stairs.
Ling Xiu covered his face, and as he turned his head, he saw his grandfather's frail body climbing the stairs with a slight stagger, and regret surged within him.
As a child, having witnessed the tragic death of his parents, he could not accept it all.
He did harbor resentment towards his grandfather, yet as he grew up, he understood that many things were not anyone's fault, and one couldn't truly blame anyone.
