Fang Qiao's first reaction was murder. With a scream, she dropped the steaming little ceramic bowl she was holding, retreating in panic, her legs so weak she nearly couldn't stand.
Pointing at the person on the ground, she said, "Murder... murder!" As she spoke, she scrambled out, shouting, "Murder, come quickly, murder!"
"It's not... It's not like that," Qiu Hualan, seeing her daughter-in-law like this, was anxiously trying to explain, powerless.
"What... what's going on? Sis? Ah Qing?" Boss Qiu, looking at the situation inside the house, found his legs beginning to fail him. He wasn't unwilling to move; he simply couldn't lift them. Just now, when Fang Qiao dropped that bowl of hot chicken soup, most of it splashed onto his foot. It burned so much he wanted to jump up, but even then, he couldn't lift them.
"Brother, it's not like that. It's... he killed himself," Qiu Hualan quickly defended the children.
