"Sir Mo, have you been well?" Mo Heng gazed coldly at the man in the crimson official robe, who, despite being middle-aged, was still handsome and dignified, and greeted him.
Since the start of the interrogation, Pei Qin had been squinting his eyes, assessing the Minister of Justice who was questioning them, Mo Dun. There were slight resemblances to Mo Heng, but he lacked Mo Heng's fine beauty, presenting instead a different kind of gentle and steady handsomeness, mature and charismatic with the settling of years. There was no hint that he could be someone who would brutally poison his own son.
Mo Dun's expression changed. Years had passed, and his impression of his son was still fixed at the moment when he lay in a pool of blood, his eyes darkened with rage and hatred, staring deathly, questioning why. When they met again, his son's eyes had miraculously healed, and now he was his prisoner. His gaze shifted to Pei Qin, a very ordinary and common woman, his wife.
