Dreaming.
"Qinghuan already knelt down to you and apologized. She even slapped herself as you demanded. If you're still angry, take it out on me. Stop making things difficult for Qinghuan. Her body hasn't recovered yet, the doctor said..."
At this point, Hen Meixin suddenly felt an inexplicable sorrow.
"Mom, stop talking." Lai Qinghuan held her hand, shaking her head to signal her to stop.
But Hen Meixin continued, "During those three months in prison, Qinghuan was tortured until she was beyond recognition. Even now, her physical wounds haven't fully healed."
The implication was clear—those three months had been sheer hell for Lai Qinghuan.
Mu Jingxi toyed with a fruit knife, the blade gleaming coldly as it caught the light. "Isn't that what she deserved?"
