"Bastard" stung Yan Luoxi's heart. At first, when her mental state was not good, Xiaoling was forcibly taken away by community workers and sent to a welfare institute.
In that welfare institute populated by Caucasians, Xiaoling was Asian. From the beginning, he was bullied constantly. Even when she took him out of there, he was just two years old, but by that time, he was already a child of few words.
Occasionally, when she saw him sitting quietly drawing for an entire morning, she would feel so heartbroken she could hardly breathe. She always thought Xiaoling might have forgotten the memories of the orphanage, but it turned out he remembered everything.
"I understand." Yan Luoxi stood up, walked into the master bedroom, and the sound of water splashing echoed from the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the neatly folded clothes on top, and sighed deeply.