"Why are you crying?" Mr. Qi asked coldly.
I pursed my lips and refused to say anything with my eyes red and swollen. I have to tell him whatever he wants to know. Is he my father or my mother? I don't want to tell him.
Should I tell him that when I was a child, I picked up a piece of chocolate, hid it, and finally ate it before I realized it had melted when I was about to eat it?
Should I tell him that when I was older, I was beaten so badly that I had to pick up trash and sell it so I could eat?
Could it be that when I told him that I finally had a little bit of success, my wings were broken off and sent to hell? Cursed to death, cursed to the point where there is no way out, cursed to be unable to fall in love with the one I love, and living in an ignoble way.
I felt no honor at all showing the scars to him. I don't need sympathy or pity, and I don't want him to have another chance to laugh at me.
I will never tell him.