Lin Mo knelt down on the cobblestone walkway, looking into Little Guo’er’s tear-filled eyes.
He gently reached out and brushed a warm tear from the little girl’s cheek with his thumb.
Then, Lin Mo lifted her up, setting her comfortably on his forearm.
“Little Guo’er,” Lin Mo said, his voice soft, steady, and carrying across the quiet avenue. “In Taichu Group, nobody is ever called a useless mouth.”
Little Guo’er sniffled, wiping her nose on her green sleeve.
“Uncle Lin Mo,” she whispered, her small voice quivering. “Xiao Douzi lost his cloth shoes in the freezing mud, and his feet have purple blisters. Xiao Cui’s mommy died in the star-iron mines last winter. When Xiao Cui cried from hunger, the Kunlun overseer threw cold water on her tent and told her that crying wasted sect energy.”
Behind Lin Mo, Grandma Chen clutched her wooden stirring paddle, her face flushing with fiery righteous rage.
“Monsters!” Grandma Chen spat, her knuckles turning white. “Cruel, heartless beasts! How can anyone call innocent children and frail grandparents useless mouths? Those elders spent centuries preaching about righteous immortality, but they don’t possess a single shred of human decency!”
