Having boarded the bus, Ye Xiaofei and Li Xiuhong found a place to sit down, and the bus slowly began to move.
However, Ye Xiaofei sensed an unusual aroma; his right eyelid kept twitching—an omen that, as a Feng Shui master, he knew all too well: the left eyelid twitching for wealth, the right for disaster.
He vaguely felt that something was off in the atmosphere.
"Mom, let's get off the bus," Ye Xiaofei took a deep breath. After a quick calculation, he felt the only way to avert disaster was to get off the bus.
"Get off the bus?"
Li Xiuhong was taken aback and looked at her son, "Have you been drinking too much? We haven't reached my workplace yet."
"Mom, this isn't the time to discuss that, just follow me off the bus."
Ye Xiaofei held his mother's hand, feeling its warmth. It had been twenty years since he last touched his mother's palm and he didn't even realize it had become so rough.
This was all from hard work.
