Mr. Mo and Mrs. Mo were almost frantic, the two elderly people following behind calling Mo Xunxun's name.
It was November, already deep autumn. The night temperatures were very low. Mrs. Mo put the still-crying Pingan into the cradle, and staggered outside.
As she stepped out of the entrance, she saw Mo Xunxun standing there by the iron gate, as if frozen in place, not moving an inch.
Mr. Mo stood a few steps behind her, while Mrs. Mo caught up, panting: "What's wrong?"
Mr. Mo quickly grabbed Mrs. Mo: "Don't speak."
Mrs. Mo felt anxious. Could it be something's happened again?
Hey, wait, why does it look like there's a car parked outside the gate?
Mrs. Mo squinted her eyes, craning her neck, trying to see more clearly.
Older people often struggle with farsightedness, and under the dim streetlight, she couldn't see clearly, especially since the car seemed to be black.
Mr. Mo tightly clutched Mrs. Mo's hand, staring intently at the car.
