As she walked through the door and caught a glimpse of Zhao Mengjin writing, Gu's mother smiled and said, "Hey, you don't have to write so meticulously, as long as she can understand it, that's fine. You don't even need to write full sentences; she can understand anyway."
No one understood her daughter better than Gu's mother.
Zhao Mengjin looked up and saw Gu's mother's beaming face, and suddenly, she thought of her own mother.
Her tears swirled in her eyes.
Gu's mother seemed to empathize, placed the bowl next to her daughter, and then massaged Zhao Mengjin's shoulders while patting her back, saying, "It's alright, it's alright, as long as people are alive, that's what matters. There's nothing to be so upset about, you know? There are so many people here."
Zhao Mengjin swallowed back the tears that almost escaped and thought to herself that Gu's mother was right; she could not cry, especially not now, giving those people more reason to gloat.
