Su Xiaomeng clutched the tablet with both hands, murmuring,
"Is... is there any news?"
The faint sound of Big Ben chiming came from outside the window.
It was ten o'clock in London, four in the morning in Beijing—
The vast Yin Family mansion was brightly lit, yet it truly seemed to have become a "Yin House."
Zhou Mengqin clutched her chest, wailing painfully, it was the deepest sorrow in a mother's heart.
"My son... my son..."
Zhou Mengqin, in her seventies, never imagined that her two biological sons would eventually leave before she did.
The desolate grief of sending one's child to the grave, endured once, is worse than death, and now Zhou Mengqin was truly experiencing it a second time.
"Shixiu... Shixiu...!"
Zhou Mengqin collapsed to the ground, unable to bear it. Yin Shihua and Shan Munan did their best to support their mother, tears streaming uncontrollably down their faces...
