Hate!
The word had come from a son's mouth, directed at his own father.
Wang Xiaoliang looked at Liu Xinyu.
He had expected to see a twisted face filled with bitterness and venom.
But he didn't.
Liu Xinyu's expression was calm.
Yet the calmer he looked, the more unnerved Wang Xiaoliang felt.
Zhou Qiang felt the same. He lowered his head, picked up his teacup, and drained the water in it.
Fan Qishan remained as he was, his head lowered as he watched the boiling water.
"Do you think it's strange?" Liu Xinyu gave a self-mocking smile and raised his teacup, but didn't drink.
"My dad was very busy. In my childhood memories, he was just a symbol."
"A symbol who spent all year away, running around the country."
"As for my mom, she ran a factory on her own. Things weren't like they are now. All the petty details in a factory could work a person to death."
"So I basically grew up by my grandfather's side."
Liu Xinyu's voice wasn't loud, and he didn't speak quickly.
"A lot of the kids around us were like that back then. Plenty of parents were in business. If they couldn't make it locally, they went elsewhere to try their luck. Some made a little money, others made a lot. If they couldn't earn it at home, they went somewhere else to earn it."
"Maybe that's why outsiders say we people from Fucheng are quick-witted. Never content to stay put. Better a street stall than a secure government job; better to sleep on the streets and be your own boss."
Zhou Qiang smiled and nodded.
He had probably heard that rhyme before.
It really was Wang Xiaoliang's first time hearing it. He found it interesting and vividly evocative.
"My dad came home