The early morning rain, thin and chilly.
The early morning rain on Qingming Festival is even more desolate and poignant.
A past not worth remembering.
"He's a scoundrel too!" Spencer Childe cursed openly, his hoarse voice filled with deep anger.
Jasmine Yale knew who Spencer Childe was cursing, Sylvan Cheney...
"Grandpa, don't curse Mr. Cheney anymore. Mr. Cheney was just momentarily confused; he's a victim too, he was deceived." Lana Fern hastily comforted Spencer Childe.
"Deceived? He's over thirty, not three! Doesn't a man in his thirties have any sense?"
"Exactly because he's over thirty, having everything go smoothly without having to worry. As they say, well-fed and warm, leading to lust, that's how that little witch harmed him." Lana Fern was striving to speak for Sylvan, fearing that Spencer Childe would vent his anger on Sylvan.
Spencer Childe's character, which she thoroughly understood, absolutely never took that grandson seriously.
