"Son... son... my son... my son..."
Mourning calls, with a touch of desolation and a little sorrow, not so intense emotionally, but under the subtle expression, it indeed captures the true essence of lament.
Mr. Su Bai is no longer the young man who just killed someone in the nightclub and felt a bit nervous. Now, even when he suddenly hears the woman's repeated cries of "son, son," he remains unfazed.
His gaze sweeps around, Mr. Su Bai does not see any woman making a sorrowful expression nearby. Of course, he is aware that this voice, which can pierce his soul so clearly, cannot be made by an ordinary person.
"Son... son... my son... my son..."
The voice continues, but Mr. Su Bai still cannot find the source. However, one thing is certain: the caller seems to be getting closer to him, if such measurements could apply here.
