Han Qiao snorted coldly.
Heng Yi whispered to Ah-Yao, "Your mother didn't beat you, but you're already giving up?"
Ah-Yao didn't speak.
"Heng Yao," Han Qiao said in a deep voice, "Why don't you say that you wasted the food?"
"..."
Ah-Yao pouted.
And tears flowed out again from his eyes.
Heng Yi coaxed him in a soft voice, "It's okay now, don't cry anymore. Your eyes will be swollen if you keep crying."
"Mother is bad!" Ah-Yao's mouth was flattened into a thin line.
He huddled into Heng Yi's arms and cried desolately.
Heng Yi had no choice.
On one side was his beloved wife, and on the other was his son who both had him in the palm of their hands. He was in a dilemma.
He held his precious son and continued to comfort him.
He tried to reason with him, telling him that food was hard to come by and that it was wrong for him to throw the bowl in his temper.