A single sentence from Jiang Xia was all it took to make the deeply affectionate Jiang Dongcheng freeze.
In contrast, Jiang Xia's smile was gentlemanly and polite, but his tone was that of a soul-snatching Hell Messenger.
"Do you remember my uncle, Jiang Donghua?"
"The same Jiang Donghua who was four years older than you, who always took care of you when Grandpa and Grandma Jiang weren't around?"
"The one who went hungry just so you could eat your fill?"
"The one who nearly drowned trying to save you?"
"The one you've always said just disappeared."
With each question, Jiang Xia's tone grew heavier, the mounting pressure wearing on Jiang Dongcheng's nerves.
The name Jiang Donghua was something of a taboo in the Jiang family.
When Jiang Dongcheng was seven, an eleven-year-old Jiang Donghua suddenly vanished in the war zone.
What it meant to disappear in a war zone was self-evident.
