Fu Qishan's eyes shimmered faintly. Song Weiyi?
Peering through the half-open door, indeed, it was Song Weiyi.
Unlike her glamorous attire, Song Weiyi was covered in dust, resembling an ugly duckling.
The moment she saw Song Weiyi, all she could feel was a throbbing pain in the wounds on her waist and abdomen.
They were scorched by Sheng Zhenguo with cigarette butts.
Though the wounds no longer hurt, their presence constantly reminded her of what she had endured after marrying Sheng Zhenguo.
"Why is she here?" Fu Qishan asked in a cold voice, her blood-red nails pressing into the flesh of her palm.
Upon hearing this, Fu Zining turned and glared at her son, said nothing, but the look in her eyes confirmed beyond doubt that it was Fu Xiuyan's doing.
Fu Qishan glanced subconsciously at her elder brother, her expression unreadable.
Instead of rushing in to settle scores with Song Weiyi right away, she closed the door and turned toward Fu Xiuyan.
