Qian Chuncao shoved her way through the crowd and stood directly in front of her son, glaring furiously at the old woman.
"Accusing my son of not knowing right from wrong, I think it's you, old man, who can't tell right from wrong. Your family's chickens are sick, yet you have the audacity to sell them to the food factory. That's utterly immoral and outrageous. Aren't you afraid that one day all the pork you buy will be from diseased pigs, and all the mutton from dead sheep? Then you'll taste what that feels like."
"It's clear as black and white. If you can't supply the goods as stipulated in the contract to the food factory, you have to pay compensation. When you were making money, you kept quiet and happy, but now that you're doing something immoral without a conscience and it's time to pay up, you're making a scene at someone else's factory gate. Your face is thicker than tree bark."
