"Qin Jun, where do you think your sister has gone?" Chu Aotian seldom had such a sentimental conversation with him. The face, which had dominated for half a lifetime, was less imposing and oppressive, and without the sharpness around him, he was just a middle-aged man who had lost his daughter, with a hint of confusion in his eyes, "Sometimes I wonder if your sister is still alive or just unfortunate and has long since left this world..."
"This time I met a girl who looks a lot like your aunt when she was young, in her early twenties. For some reason, when I saw her eyes, I thought of your sister right away. If your sister were alive, she would be about the same age as her."
He recalled the wonderful day and night they spent together and smiled inexplicably, "Speaking of which, that child has quite a connection with our family."
Qin Jun couldn't resist his curiosity and asked, "What kind of connection?"
"Do you remember we arranged a childhood betrothal for your sister?"
