"What a pity, my leg didn't turn out as you wished. I'll never be able to stand up again."
Pei Yicheng leaned against the bed; the moment he saw Pei Guozhong, it was as if he instantly became a prickly hedgehog, raising his spines.
"Yicheng!" Du Chang barked a reprimand.
Pei Yicheng turned his head away. The hand under the quilt was icy cold. He knew it was from the newly framed painting, the layer of glass on top.
The anger Pei Guozhong had managed to suppress surged up inside him. He pressed his lips together, his face stern as he said, "Let's talk when you're able to stand."
His gaze fell onto Pei Yicheng's legs. Since they were fine, he walked up to Du Chang, took a moment to compose himself, and said, "Dad, you've worked hard these past days."
"Yicheng is my grandson too—there's really no talk of what's hard or not hard about it." Du Chang sighed and said, "Yicheng, he..."
