The last time Li Ye had seen the child called Siguo had been during the twelfth lunar month a year ago.
Back then, he had been less than two years old. He had knelt before Li Kaijian and kowtowed in bewilderment, calling out to people in a babyish voice—a pitiful child who had just been abandoned by his own mother.
But this year, the child was clearly much more sensible.
Xia Yue held his hand, yet his eyes remained fixed on Tong Mingyue. Clearly, his feelings for his grandmother outweighed those for Xia Yue, his biological mother.
And when his Older Sister Li Yue berated Tong Mingyue, the child had visibly panicked. He wanted to rush over and grab Tong Mingyue's leg, but Xia Yue tugged him back.
"I-I may be surnamed Tong now, but I was still a Li for over forty years! Kai Jian, say something! Why can't I call him father even once? Waaah—"
"Even if I wronged you in the past, our family has already suffered retribution these past few years! Are you really going to stand by and do nothing even if your Older Sister dies?"
After blanking out for a moment, Tong Mingyue still grabbed Li Kaijian's hand and launched into a tearful litany of grievances, snot and tears running together.
Li Kaijian wanted to shake off Tong Mingyue's grip on his arm, but he could not bring himself to do it.
Three years ago, Tong Mingyue's hair had still been jet-black. Now, two-thirds of it had turned white.
Her son was in prison, her daughter-in-law had divorced, and her husband's career had essentially been cut short. To suffer blow after blow in middle age—calling it retribution was hardly an exaggeration.
Just then, Cui Siguo finally broke free of Xia Yue's hold and