"She's... pregnant?"
Song Ying covered her lips in surprise, while Song Haoran frowned at once.
Many times, people's attitudes toward pregnant women were rather complicated.
This woman might have been utterly wicked, or hated by everyone, but when a small life was growing inside her, her circumstances became somewhat different.
She might not receive forgiveness, but the little life born inside her was innocent.
A spotless, pure life would always inspire affection.
Our respect for pregnant women came from the greatness of bearing life.
"This is far too cruel!" Song Ying's face went pale. On the platform stood only seven- or eight-year-old Paul, along with the unborn child in Red-clothed Qiao An's womb. Of the two, only one was allowed to live.
In an instant, when Song Ying looked at Alaya again, the blue-haired, blue-eyed girl no longer seemed exquisite and adorable. Instead, she inexplicably felt afraid.
Because all of this was happening according to her will—it was she who had established this cruel battle for survival, and she who had personally created this brutal situation.
On the Steel Platform, Red-clothed Qiao An stood there blankly, as if she had been struck by lightning.
She lowered her head, one hand caressing her abdomen. Her hair concealed her face, making it impossible to see her sorrow, joy, disgust, or anything else. Only her slightly trembling shoulders were clearly visible.
"No! It can't be like this! It can't!!"
Song Ying suddenly became agitated. She hurried over to Luo Qiu and grabbed his arm tightly. "This isn't reasonable! This is completely unreasonable! Hurry and think of something! Think of something!"
"I already said that I wouldn't interfere with Alaya's work." Luo Qiu shook his head. "Since I said that, all we can do is wait for the result."
"But this is too strange...