Song Zhanhai looked at his son across the dining table. The boy, who was obviously fifteen years old, still ate like a cat.
This scene suddenly reminded him of the way Xu Pingzhou squatted in the corner of the alley munching steamed buns that winter, just as he did now, taking small bites, restrained and cautious.
The sun was so beautiful that day, it was warm on his body, and he was in the light, looking up and smiling at himself.
I can't go back, I can't go back...
At this time, Xu Pingzhou felt very uneasy. He did something rude to Song Zhanhai last night while drunk, and this morning he saw a bright red wound on his thin lip that could not be ignored...
He swallowed his last mouthful of food and summoned up the courage to ask, "Father, what's wrong with your mouth...?"
Song Zhanhai was recalling the past when Xu Pingzhou's humble voice interrupted his thoughts. He waved his hands and said with a smile: "I was scratched by the cat last night."
Xu Pingzhou was shocked, but said nothing more. He took the schoolbag from the butler's hand, said "Goodbye, father" and left in a hurry.