The black Bentley drove into the Jing Family's old mansion.
Mr. Li stood by the window of the old man's bedroom. Seeing Jing Jihan's car return, he turned around and quietly said by the armchair, "Mr. Jing is back."
"Hmm?" The old man was lying on the chair, with a thin blanket over his legs and an old photo album on top of it. Half asleep, he squinted at Mr. Li, "Who's back?"
Mr. Li laughed and said, "Mr. Jing."
The old man heard clearly this time, closed his eyes, and said nothing more.
Mr. Li didn't forcefully wake him up either.
For over eighty years old, the old man was considered healthy and vigorous among his peers, except that his legs had become increasingly inconvenient in the past two years.
But recently, upon hearing that the old lady had returned from Singapore, the old man, who had been tough-hearted for decades, became sentimental, sometimes daydreaming, sometimes sighing. It was unclear if he missed his grandson or his wife after all.
