"Sister, you have to help me think of a way,"
Wen Zhaoning gripped her hand and patted the back of it soothingly, "Sit down and take it slow. Don't cry."
As soon as Meixin sat down on the couch, she began to talk eagerly about her visit to the prison. Worried about Qinghuan's safety, her tears fell like pearls slipping off a broken string.
"Sister, you know that I have always cherished Qinghuan as the apple of my eye. She is my heart's flesh; I cannot bear to let her suffer the slightest hardship. Now that she is in prison, with her life hanging in the balance, how can I not worry?"
The more Meixin spoke, the more heartbroken she became, as if Qinghuan truly had met with disaster in prison.
Without a doubt, Wen Zhaoning knew who was responsible for all this.
Apart from Mu Jingxi, she considered no one else.
He had agreed to reduce Qinghuan's six-month sentence to three months, only because of her and his uncle's intervention.
