After dinner, Zhou Shuren kept Ming Teng behind. The old man showed no expression, nor did he make a sound, focusing entirely on his book.
Ming Teng stood in the center of the hall, his grandfather silent as ever. The pressure mounted so much that sweat dripped down his cheeks from his forehead. He dared not move—couldn't even bring himself to wipe the sweat.
Zhulan never interrupted when Shuren educated the grandchildren. Tonight, she made Ming Teng's favorite dishes on purpose, reasoning that if his stomach was full, he'd endure the punishment better.
Time steadily ticked away. Ming Teng seldom faced punishments like standing, and now his legs, stretched straight, trembled and struggled to hold his stance. Still, he stubbornly endured it.
Zhulan overheard a minor stir, glanced up briefly, then continued cutting flowers and arranging them into a bouquet.
