It is already half-past eleven in the afternoon, in the Yang Family's living room, seven or eight people still haven't left.
Only half an hour left, neither Song Ziyang nor Zhao Bingguo has much patience anymore.
As the leader of today's meeting, Zhao Bingguo wouldn't let the matter rest without a resolution; he glanced at his watch and Zhao Bingguo, sitting on the sofa, directly spoke: "Mr. Yang, delaying tactics won't work anymore, only half an hour left, do you still want to drag this out? Quickly hand over your son."
"Why the hurry when there's still half an hour left?" Yang Tianlie remained unmoved, hands resting on the armrests, leisurely crossing his legs.
"Heh." Zhao Bingguo let out a cold laugh: "Your son won't come back at all, you're just trying to buy time, maybe, you've already hidden him away or sent him abroad."
Yang Tianlie indifferently shrugged his shoulders: "I can't help it if you think so."
