Yang Zhiqiang listened to his brother's words, and no matter how angry he was, he didn't make a fuss. He knew Chunsheng was right.
So he reluctantly called Mom and Dad.
Hu Chunhua's eyes were red, "Go, don't come back in the future. When I die, there's no need for you to wear mourning clothes."
This frightened Yang Zhiqiang. In the rural hometown, words like this meant breaking off relations.
"Mom, how can you say that?"
"Zhiqiang, do you know what you've been doing all these years? Go, you're all ingrates. From now on, you don't have parents, and I don't have a son like you."
Yang Minggang sat on the kang, smoking silently. He knew his wife was feeling aggrieved.
"Mom, isn't it because you're biased? If you had found me a job, I wouldn't be like this?"
"The parents who gave birth to and raised you aren't as good as a job. You're truly an ingrate. Get lost, don't come back."
