He couldn't.
His mother's face flashed in his mind—her kind eyes, her gentle smile, her soft voice that used to hum lullabies to him.
He missed her, but now, all he could feel was guilt. Was it true? Was he really the reason she was gone?
A guest, an older woman dressed in an expensive silk gown, leaned forward, her voice dripping with disdain.
"It's no wonder tragedy follows him. He was born unlucky. Poor Yanyu sacrificed everything for this boy, and what did she get? Death."
Another guest chimed in, a man with a pompous air,
"If she hadn't insisted on giving birth to him, she could've survived. She should've chosen herself over a child that brings nothing but misfortune."
The room was filled with nods of agreement, murmurs of "unlucky" and "cursed" rippling through the gathering.
Long Yifan's small shoulders trembled as he tried to hold back his tears. But the cruelty didn't stop.