Su Ming'an watched.
Lin Wang'an gently patted Bai Chun's back, her ten fingers slender with clearly defined joints. In his memory, those hands always suddenly rose to slap his wrist after grading assignments, saying his handwriting wasn't neat enough, saying he shouldn't write "I'm afraid of mom" in essays, saying he'd never meet her standards.
But now she was using those blood-stained hands to wipe Bai Chun's sweat.
"Xiao Qiu, it's time to go to the study and prepare," Lin Wang'an suddenly turned her head, her pupils bloodshot: "Don't forget the Creator Conference in two days, you're the hot favorite to win. If you really win the championship, mom will wake up laughing from her dreams."
Her tone was as if the day after tomorrow was the college entrance exam, and Bai Qiu had to be the top scorer.
