“Xiao Shu is in there!” He heard his adoptive mother’s worried voice.
The fists and feet that rained on his upper body disappeared. Shen Qingyu opened his eyes and saw a face that was four points similar to Han Cheng.
The man looked at him contemptuously, gloomy and cold, as if he was looking at a slowly wiggling thing that was dying.
Shen Qingyu knows that he can’t live anymore.
He grinned slowly. “You’re too late, ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
He laughed happily and contentedly. “There is not only Shen Qingshu but also two other men in the room. They have been locked together for a long time. What do you think they are doing?”
Han Cheng, who had just come to the door, suddenly stopped.
He looked at the door in front of him. For a moment, his eyes were astringent.
His whole heart was trembling, and his eyes were soaked with tears.
“You all go out.” He whispered.
Han Yu turned to look at him. Mother Shen sobbed.
Shen Qingyu still wanted to laugh, but Han Yu stepped on his face.
“You talk too much.” He said.
Then he grabbed his hair and slammed his head at the ground.
The blood seeped out. He looked at Shen Qingyu’s painful expression and said coldly, “now your voice is not so harsh.”