"Aunt Tian," Pei Yang said in utter exasperation, his voice as taut as a stretched string. "Please get this straight. This is Feng Wanting's house, not mine. Even if he's my father, how could you just let him in without Feng Wanting's permission?"
"...Director Feng said I should treat you as I would him." Tian Yun looked apologetic, twisting her apron awkwardly. "I thought that even if I called Director Feng to ask, he would let him in once he knew he was your father."
Pei Yang struggled to part his lips, his temples throbbing. After a brief spell of dizziness, he braced himself against the sofa's carved armrest. "Sorry, I was too harsh. Please give us some privacy. I'll talk to him alone for a while."
As Tian Yun's footsteps faded, the living room fell deathly silent. The only sound was a rustling from across the sofa-Pei Zhi was writhing on the carpet like a shameless snake, his worn-out jeans rubbing against a rug worth six figures.
Pei Yang held himself in check and exhaled.
Though his clothes and shoes were shabby, they were reasonably clean. Yet Pei Yang still felt that he was polluting the air here.
Those memories flashed before his eyes like a revolving lantern-his mother's breathing on her sickbed, the deafening pounding of debt collectors at the door, and one torrent of abuse after another.
"How much longer are you going to lie there?"
"I could lie here for the rest of my life." Pei Zhi grabbed a handful of the fluffy rug beneath him and rubbed his face against it, clicking his tongue in admiration. "A rich family's home really is something else. This rug is so soft. Even lying on the floor is more comfortable than sleeping on those hard prison bunks."
Pei