Lin Yao opened the door covered in wind and snow. The light waiting for him at home was still on, but his mother Cheng Yesui's eyes were as cold as an ice cellar. He was no longer the son who would kneel down to admit his mistakes, and she was no longer the mother who would cook him noodles with red eyes. Ten years ago, a fire burned down his home and his bloodline. He came back with injuries and full of hatred, just to ask for the truth; she kept silence and guilt, but never dared to call him "A Yao" again. The night wind blew ashes on their faces. Between them, only the blood relationship was hot, but their hearts were frozen.
