Mu Qianshui left the Mo family reluctantly, driving her car as memories from over a decade ago surged in her mind.
That year, she was five years old, and Mu Qianyuan was also five.
The five-year-old Mu Qianyuan was like a naturally crafted piece of art, so stunning and lively that she resembled a little angel sculpted from jade and pink porcelain.
Beside Mu Qianyuan, there was always an exceptionally handsome and beautiful older brother following her.
Mu Qianshui sat enviously under the tree, staring with yearning.
Her sister was so beautiful, her little face delicate and pink, her eyes round and sparkling like a cat's, as clear as a crystal.
If only I could be as pretty as my sister.
She thought to herself and, feeling dejected, got up and walked back to the house.
But it was in this moment, as she turned and went back inside, that she overheard something she wasn't meant to hear.
The voice belonged to Ning Zitong.
