A piece of paper and a photograph fell out.
Xue Xingzhou picked up the photograph. If he hadn't known it was his mother, he would have almost mistaken her for Yue'er.
The person in the photo looked to be only in her twenties, the corners of her mouth curved into a brilliant smile.
Xue Xingzhou couldn't reconcile the woman in the photo with the person in his memory. In his memories, his mother had always been silent. She would sometimes smile at him and Yue'er, but she had never shown such a free-spirited, heartfelt grin.
The edges of the photo were frayed, a clear sign that it had been taken out and looked at often.
Xue Xingzhou unfolded the paper. Its contents were simple, just as Zheng Guofeng had said—a few words of complaint. However, the final phrase, full of despair, definitely hinted at suicidal intentions.
