Wen Mochen lay on the ground like a dead dog, convulsing in pain, struggling to endure the excruciating aches throughout his body.
On his once handsome and pale face, a red, almost bone-deep palm print appeared conspicuously.
This palm print was like a brand, stark and glaring.
At the same time, a thick line of blood trickled slowly from the corner of Wen Mochen's mouth.
This stream of fresh blood dripped onto the clean, tidy floor, forming startling bloodstains.
Lying on the ground, Wen Mochen slowly raised his head, his previously angry eyes suddenly widened in disbelief.
It was because the figure standing outside the door was someone he was all too familiar with.
"Father!" Wen Mochen's voice sounded somewhat trembling, with a hint of incredulity.
"What are you doing!"
At this moment, Wen Mochen, filled with confusion and grievance, completely misunderstood why his father would deal such a cruel blow to him.
