Mo Wenxuan said everything in one breath, his chest heaving violently. He had probably never argued with anyone like this before. His neck was even turning red, and the veins on his agitated forehead were bulging.
Ye Mingyu looked at him, his anger slightly diffused, but still resentful of his lack of spirit. He only said, "You are not willing to put your mother in danger for you, but are you willing to let her be shamed because of you? Don't you realize how disappointed she would be to know what you've done? Is this the kind of son you are, one that makes it impossible for her to hold her head up high? That is a hundred times more contemptible than being poor and incapable!"
"You!" Mo Wenxuan was left speechless.
Just then, a trembling voice rang out: "Wenxuan."
