After Lian Xinying took her son into her arms, her nose felt sour, and she turned to ask the other child, "Who told you that?"
"My mom said it! My mom is coming soon! Don't leave!" The bullied little boy said with a choked up voice, his young age not hiding his fierce demeanor.
"I'm not leaving. I'll wait for your mother to come," Lian Xinying replied to the little boy and then reached out to wipe the tears from Xiaocheng's face, gently comforting, "Don't cry. Your father isn't dead. You just need to argue with him, hitting is wrong."
"He insisted on saying my dad is dead... It made me so angry!" Xiaocheng was usually a polite child, but the accusation about his father was no small matter.
"Alright, don't be angry anymore." After Lian Xinying dried Xiaocheng's tears with a tissue, the boy gave her some face, quickly regaining his composure.
And the mother of the beaten boy also arrived.
She was a rich lady dressed in an oppressively luxurious manner.
