Old Master Zhang had spoken until his mouth was dry and his throat was parched here. He never understood why his son remained indifferent. Did he truly not wish to awaken?
Why could his own son be even more heartless than him, his father? Facing such temptation, he still chose to lie here silently asleep, never to wake up. What would it take to rouse him? If he woke up, what exactly should he do? Time and time again, his son had done such things, and he could choose to forgive him—did he not wish for even a single lucid glance, which even he, as a father, was unwilling to give?
Ah, maybe it was really because of what he had done that his son lacked the courage to wake up. He was truly afraid of him, afraid that upon awakening, the first person he would see would be him. Perhaps now, the first person he wished to lay eyes upon was his wife—the person he was most concerned about was also his wife.
