The next morning at dawn.
Li Jing sat upright in the Taishi Chair in the flower hall, his face exuding righteousness, his presence astonishing.
Every family member was captivated by this aura, subconsciously holding their breath, not daring to make the slightest sound.
Yin Shi'niang, dressed in plain robes, sat slumped on the floor, her voice like a cuckoo weeping blood, her teary eyes irresistibly heart-wrenching.
"Husband!"
"Zhua'er, he is your own flesh and blood!"
"He is still so young!"
"How can you bear to send him to the execution ground?"
Nezha, wearing a red bellyband as if he had grown much overnight, stood timidly, raising his head with a stubborn pout.
No matter how Yin Shi'niang cried, Nezha remained silent. It seemed as if the events unfolding had nothing to do with him.
However, even though Nezha said nothing, Li Jing still saw helplessness, heartbreak, and fear in his eyes.
Yes, and resentment.
Resentment.
