Only the eldest, who isolated himself from the rest, the inscrutable eldest, she, Xiao Shuzhu, couldn't figure out what exactly he was thinking, as if he harbored many secrets.
"You—" Xiao Jianming propped himself up with one hand on the surface of his desk, slowly rising as if it took all his strength to stand, and looked at his son, "Who—whose words did you listen to—"
"I haven't listened to anyone. It's just that the truth, which is forever factual, cannot be concealed by paper," Xiao Yebai said, his tone ice-cold, as if the man standing before him had no connection to him at all.
Xiao Jianming's other hand touched the front of his shirt.
Uncle Tang began to shout in alarm, "Chairman, Chairman, how do you feel?" Then he yanked the still, unresponsive Xiao Yebai, "Young Master, the Chairman is sick, please hold back your words!"
What?
Was his own father sick?
