Shang Yide's voice carried a hint of obscurity, filled with longing. The yearning was pervasive, and the man's deep, dark eyes held a profound tenderness that seemed eternal. Yet, he still opened his mouth to speak.
"Dad, I'm your son. Can you tell me what's going on?"
Shang Pinhao grew even more worried about his father's current state. Gently bending his body, he squatted down, his eyes revealing unhidden sincerity and concern as he looked at Shang Yide.
"Son, is there no way for our family to return to the way it was? When I think of your mother now, I feel such sorrow. Can our once-complete family ever go back to how it used to be?"
His voice was laden with exhaustion and vulnerability. Shang Yide leaned back against the chair, turned his head to glance at his son, his face sorrowful and grief-stricken. His large hand touched Shang Pinhao's, though it was unclear whether he wanted to comfort his son or seek solace from him instead.
