Old Mrs. Ye extended her withered right hand, raised her index finger, and directly pointed at Shen Chen: "Oh, the insult to your friend you mentioned, are you referring to the servant behind you?"
The tone was aggressive.
The word 'servant' was uttered with ease.
The little girl in a long gown with peony patterns earnestly corrected, "Grandmother, he's not a servant, he's my good friend, his name is Shen Chen."
The Little Traitor's heart pounded as he looked at the little girl, finding her extraordinarily lovely.
"Enough." Old Mrs. Ye, who is sixty this year, still showed vigorous energy when angry. "It's one thing to be close to that servant, but now for his sake, you even dare to drive out your cousins? Do you still regard family ties?"
She turned her gaze towards Ye Yuan and his wife, scolding, "Look at the fine daughter you've raised, even daring to contradict me. Isn't this rebellious?"
