Three hours passed swiftly, and the plane arrived at Yu Lingqian's private airport.
Shen Muchen, dragging a suitcase, looked around and instantly spotted a silver nanny van.
His face changed abruptly, intending to slip away unnoticed when, out of the blue, a well-preserved middle-aged lady stepped down from the nanny van.
She was in high heels, her makeup immaculate, carrying a delicate handbag.
At a glance, she caught sight of Shen Muchen, who was about to beat a hasty retreat.
Her poised face morphed instantly, "Shen Muchen, if you run now, believe me, I'll break your legs?"
This forceful roar froze Shen Muchen in his tracks as if he had been struck by an immobilizing point.
With a long sigh, he waved to Yu Lingqian and Mu Anran, his face a picture of sorrow, "Boss, little sister-in-law, Sister Jiaqi, I've got to go first. I hope when you see me tomorrow, I'll still be in one piece."
"Shen Muchen, come here this instant!" Mrs. Shen glared at her son, fuming with anger.
