With the warm seafood porridge in his stomach, Ye Feimo felt much better, and a bit of color returned to his face. Cheng Anya's heart ached for her son, but ultimately, it was his own affair, and she couldn't intervene directly.
"Wen Nuan's intelligence isn't even half of yours, so why can't you manage her? Or have you just gotten dumber?" Cheng Anya almost wanted to pry open his skull to see if his brain had been kicked by a donkey.
"Why should I manage her?"
"Oh, you were just waiting for her call, weren't you? You saw the phone and, without even looking at it, just told her to come back and cook. You're quite something, falling to the level of waiting for a woman's call, and still daring to talk back to me," Cheng Anya couldn't help but retort.
Ye Feimo remained silent, not responding. He didn't want to discuss this with Cheng Anya.
He had spoken too harshly that day in anger, but he hadn't completely wronged her.
