The man reached out to hit him, but just as the slap was about to land on his face, Meng Beiyan grabbed his wrist, giving him no chance to strike.
Seeing this, the woman quickly stepped in to break up the fight, but her eyes remained fixed on Ying Qian.
Ying Qian felt as if she had been slashed and hid behind Meng Beiyan.
"You...you wouldn't...be Ying Qian, would you?" The woman looked her over for a long time before realizing that the girl's features resembled someone else's.
Even Meng Beiyan was taken aback; how could she recognize Ying Qian? Logically speaking, they should have met very few times…
“You look a lot like your mother.” The woman seemed to want to see through Ying Qian.
Ying Qian shrank back; the person looking at her wasn't her, but her mother.
"How is Grandpa? Has he not woken up yet?" Meng Beiyan put his hand behind his back and tugged at Ying Qian's cold hand, but she dodged it.
His eyes dimmed for a moment, but he quickly returned to normal.
The old man lying on the hospital bed was emaciated, practically skin and bones. Ying Qian pursed her lips, unable to bear the sight any longer, while the couple continued to argue about who should handle the old man's funeral arrangements.
Thinking about it, it's really sad. The old man had so many children, but in the final moments of his life, it was the adopted child who took care of him.
I remember a few years ago, Grandpa's health wasn't so bad, and he didn't have so much gray hair. He would rush to the market early in the morning to buy her things to eat.
As I recall it, tears involuntarily streamed down my face.
Meng Beiyan followed her into the corridor. Ying Qian thought he was going to smoke again, and asked, sobbing, "Why are you taking me with you when you smoke?"
He couldn't help but laugh. "Why do you think I'm going to smoke? Can't you think I'm doing something good?"
"Then just say it straight, why did you drag me out here?"
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