After Mu Lihua finally left, Su Qinglan let out a quiet sigh of relief.
She turned her head and looked at her father.
He was standing still, his tall figure looking as if it had aged even more in just a short moment. His shoulders were heavy, and his eyes were tired. Seeing him like this, Su Qinglan's heart ached.
She slowly placed the stone pot in her hands onto the ground. Then, step by step, she walked toward him.
When she reached him, she gently held his large hands in her smaller ones. Her voice softened as she spoke.
"Father, don't worry… I know, Mother. She will never remove your mark. You don't have to be afraid of her. And if she ever dares to, I will take care of her myself."
Her last words turned cold, filled with a dark promise.
But Su Mingxuan frowned and did not believe her childish thoughts. Instead of agreeing, he raised his hand and lightly flicked her forehead.
