"Uncle. What happened?" Feng asked, his voice low with immediate worry.
Mr. Lee wore a tight grin that didn't touch his eyes and placed a heavy hand on Feng's shoulder. "Are they up or asleep?" he asked, gesturing slightly with his chin lifted toward the stairs.
"Asleep. It's the middle of the night. Uncle, tell me what is wrong." Feng straightened his posture and stood boldly, blocking the way to the living room.
"You only smile and shake your head when something is not right. And you have never entered their house unannounced, apart from the day you submitted the letter to him. So, tell me."
Mr. Lee's smile faded, giving him a hollow look. "He's the one."
"Who is the one?" Feng's brow furrowed.
"Leon's father, Andrew… wasn't just a painter. Like we… knew, but worse. Far worse."
