The nearly fifty-year-old Yan Feiqin was calm and steady, unwilling to lower himself to the same level as him. He merely glanced at him lightly, then looked at Mu Yiliang.
"Do you know who framed you?"
Mu Yiliang slowly raised her head, her face already streaked with tears: "I... I can't say..."
"Why can't you say?" Yan Feiyu became anxious, "Don't be afraid! No matter who it is, Grandpa will stand up for you!"
Mu Yiliang covered her cheeks and suddenly burst into tears.
The mournful sound of her crying echoed through the hall, no one spoke, everyone's faces were solemn.
At this moment, footsteps sounded outside the door.
Yan Sijue had returned.
He had clearly rushed back after receiving the news, his collar slightly disheveled, not even wearing a tie.
His face was expressionless, showing no sign of anger, nor the gloom of someone who had been cuckolded.
Yet this look of his inexplicably chilled Mu Yiliang's heart.
After glancing at him, she decisively stopped crying.
