Wen Jiao's calm words fell, and Wei Shuqian looked at her, slowly shaking his head, his eyes filled with disbelief.
"You're talking nonsense! I never received any..." His voice seemed to get stuck as a sudden rush of memories flooded his mind.
On her deathbed, the woman had stuffed a bank card into his hands.
In the hospital room reeking of disinfectant, the woman on the brink of death looked at him, her face full of unwillingness to let go.
Weakly she said, "Xiao Shu, take good care of this card, it has the money Mom prepared for you. Use it to live well, do you understand?"
But at the moment of the woman's death, those people burst into the room, seven or eight robust adult men held him down and took the bank card from his hand.
They were all villagers from the woman's hometown, like vultures, feasting on carrion, feeding on human blood.
Wei Shuqian had never imagined that the bank card taken from him contained an astronomical sum.
