"It’s a pity, my legs couldn’t stand up as you wished—they’ll never do so."
Pei Yicheng, leaning against the bed, turned into a sharp hedgehog at the sight of Pei Guozhong, his spikes erect.
"Yicheng!" Du Chang rebuked sternly.
Pei Yicheng turned his head away, his hand inside the blanket ice cold; he knew it was just framed—a layer of glass over it.
The anger that Pei Guozhong had suppressed bubbled up furiously. Clenching his lips and with a stern face, he said, "Wait until you can stand up before you talk."
His gaze fell on Pei Yicheng’s legs, and, realizing they were fine, he moved to Du Chang, eased his expression, and said, "Dad, you’ve had a hard time these days."
"Yicheng is my grandson too; it’s no hardship," sighed Du Chang, saying, "Yicheng, he..."
Before Du Chang could finish, Pei Yicheng said, "Grandpa, aren’t you in a hurry to go back? Xiaohao has already prepared the car." Leaving now would get them to South City in time for lunch and some rest before arriving home by evening.
"Yicheng, Guozhong is your father; he traveled all the way from Ningbei to see you."
Du Chang was intent on mending their father-son relationship.
"Grandpa, he came to Xi Province for work; seeing me was just convenient," Pei Yicheng’s lips pressed into a straight line, his words edged with sarcasm. His eyes downcast, he would never forget the scene of his mother’s death, her hands still holding the lunchbox she had brought for him.
If not for Pei Guozhong’s sole focus on work and money, his mother wouldn’t have died.
All his life, his father had been either on a business trip or en route to one.
"Dad, you’re heading back to South City today; shall I take you?" Pei Guozhong progressed past Pei Yicheng, fearing he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to grab something and beat him with it.
"No need, Xiaohao will drive me back," Du Chang declined.
Pei Guozhong said, "That’s good; I brought you something."
As he walked out, Pei Guozhong raised his voice, "I also still have work to do."
"Guozhong, since when do you have work in Xi Province?" Wan Hongxing quickly explained, fearing Pei Yicheng might misunderstand.
"How not? I have it now," Pei Guozhong’s voice grew fainter.
The room fell silent instantaneously. Ling Dong cautiously looked at Pei Yicheng; every time he saw Pei Guozhong, Yicheng’s mood was never good.
"It’s fine, I’m well. I will definitely stand before him one day and tell him how disappointed he has made me!" Pei Yicheng took out the painting from under the blanket. His hand gently skimmed the ice-cold glass, over the large tree, tracing the tender green sprouts.
"Guozhong, Yicheng must surely feel happy seeing you here," Du Chang explained, worried Pei Guozhong might feel uneasy.
"Dad, you needn’t explain. What the boy thinks, do you think I don’t know? He’s been resenting me over Xiaoya’s matter for years, treating me like an enemy whenever he sees me," Pei Guozhong sighed.
For Pei Guozhong too, Du Ya’s death was a severe blow.
"Xiaoya, she..." As Du Chang mentioned his daughter who died young, a look of longing appeared in his eyes. "That incident was an accident; nobody wanted her to get hurt."
Pei Guozhong was silent, filled with guilt—if only he had been quicker, perhaps things could have changed.
"You and Xiaowan live well; Yicheng will eventually come around," Du Chang patted Pei Guozhong on the shoulder.