For the first time, Qiao Yuxian saw a glimmer of hope about things from fifty or sixty years ago.
But this hope was quickly extinguished by Zhao Shimeng's three words, "I don't know."
In fact, Qiao Yuxian was a bit taken aback, not sure what her "I don't know" really meant.
Why would Sheng Chendong's father, Zhao Shimeng, say she didn't know?
Qiao Yuxian frowned and looked at her, asking, "What do you mean you don't know?"
"I don't know who he is," Zhao Shimeng said.
"You've never seen him?" Qiao Yuxian asked.
"I've seen him," Zhao Shimeng said. "But I don't know what he looks like."
Qiao Yuxian frowned again.
Zhao Shimeng said, "From the first time I met him, he was always wearing a silver mask. I've never seen his face."
"Not even a name?" Qiao Yuxian asked.
"No," Zhao Shimeng replied. "There's not a single piece of information about his father in Sheng Chendong's files, and Sheng Chendong never told me."
