When the alcohol burned his throat, Wang Qiang was burying his face in his daughter Wang Yue's school uniform jacket. There is still a faint scent of laundry detergent left on the fabric, mixed with a bit of pencil shavings - that's because my daughter always likes to stuff half of pencils in her pockets.
"Yueyue... Dad was wrong..." His nails dug into the collar of his coat, where there was an ink stain that couldn't be washed away. In his previous life, he didn't know until he was sorting out his belongings that his daughter accidentally spilled the ink and stained it when she wanted to draw a certificate for her at the parents' meeting.
