The little star from the Gobi Desert, handed over to the state, is hailed as a national treasure.

"George Young..." she murmured repeatedly, as if trying to remember the name, "Okay, okay...George...Young..."

She pronounced it haltingly and awkwardly, her tongue just couldn't get the sound right. How could an elderly woman from rural China, who had never left the county town her entire life, possibly pronounce an English name correctly?

But she was trying her best to read it.

I tried hard to pronounce my son's current name.

Little Henry peeked out from behind Mary, looking curiously at the strange old woman. "Mommy, why does she call me 'grandson'? What does 'grandson' mean?"

Mary did not answer.

She didn't want to answer, much less admit it.

She was simply furious at George for deceiving her and wanted nothing more than to break ties with him right now!

However, she obtained citizenship because of her status as George Young's spouse, and if the two divorce, she will definitely be deported from the United Kingdom.

She didn't want to take that risk.

She could only suppress her anger and glare fiercely at Yang Qiaozhi.

The hall was eerily quiet.

No one speaks.

The service staff, the guards, and all the passersby stopped and watched the scene in silence.

Professor Qian stood at the door, his face expressionless. But his eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth.

Anlip stood next to Professor Qian. He couldn't understand Chinese, but he could read it.

I could understand the crumpled banknotes, the patched jacket, the old lady's mouth movements as she tried to pronounce "George," and the child's disdainful look as he hid behind his mother.

He recalled what Yang Qiaozhi had just said: "The people here particularly like to emphasize dedication and sacrifice. For the benefit of the country, they would even go without food and water, tightening their belts to scrape together money."

It turns out that they were willing to dedicate themselves and sacrifice not only for the country but also for their own families.

Just like the elderly couple in front of us, they tightened their belts and cut back on food and clothing, just to hand over their savings accumulated over the years to their son who hadn't been home for more than 20 years.

Yet George Young can say to the country that gave him birth and raised him, "Make them pay the price!" without any hesitation.

Enlip slowly shifted his gaze, unable to bear watching any longer.

He had seen arrogant people, he had seen selfish people, but he had never seen anyone so callous and so ungrateful.

"Yang," he suddenly spoke, in English, his voice not loud, but clearly carrying throughout the hall, "I think you no longer need to be my assistant."

George Yang suddenly looked up.

"You are now fired."

"Teach, instruct—"

"You'll have to figure out your own return ticket," Enlip interrupted him, trying hard to suppress the disgust in his voice. "You and your family have nothing to do with this visit anymore, and I don't want to see you again."

After he finished speaking, he turned to Professor Qian and said apologetically, "Qian, I'm sorry to have made you see this."

Professor Qian shook his head and remained silent.

George Yang panicked completely.

He disregarded his parents, his wife, and his son, staggering towards Enlip: "Professor, Professor! You can't do this! We signed a contract! I'm your assistant! I—"

"You are nothing." Enlip didn't even look at him and walked straight towards the door.

George Yang wanted to give chase, but was politely but firmly stopped by two guards.

"Sir, please wait a moment."

George Yang watched helplessly as Anlip's figure disappeared through the door, feeling completely drained, and slumped softly onto the sofa.

Mary held Henry, staring blankly at everything.

Professor Enlip just left like that? Not only was he dismissed, but he also abandoned his family of three?

"Yang Jianguo!" she shouted angrily in Chinese, "You bastard! Look at the mess you've made! You've ruined us all!"

Before she could finish speaking, she raised her hand and slapped Yang Qiaozhi hard across the face.

"Snapped!"

The crisp sound startled everyone; Mary had already picked up Henry and rushed out without looking back.

"Professor, please let me explain, Professor!"

She had to catch up with Enlip, even if it meant humbling herself and begging, to get him to take her and her son back to the United States.

George Yang covered his swollen cheek, stunned for a long time, his ears filled with Mary's angry shouts.

At the doorway, his father was still standing there, clutching the cloth bag in his hand, his back hunched over, like a child who had done something wrong.

His mother wanted to go up and see her son, but she didn't dare. Ever since he said his name was "George," they didn't know if they could still recognize him.

I don't even dare to hope that he will call out "Father" or "Mother" again.

"Jianguo..." Finally, the father spoke, his voice tired and weak, "I'm sorry for troubling you. It's alright, we'll leave now. You can focus on your work and don't worry about us."

Her mother quickly chimed in, "Yes, Lao Yang, let's go. Don't delay the child. He's a man destined for great things."

George Yang's lips trembled violently.

He wanted to say, "What's the point of you leaving now?", "You shouldn't have come in the first place!", and "You've ruined everything for me."

But he couldn't tell.

He watched his mother's faltering steps as she turned away, and his father's hunched back. Those two haggard and thin figures looked so small, so old, and so pitiful in the empty hall.

Several hands reached out to them, carefully supporting them. These were the officers who were escorting them. Their movements were gentle and patient, even more considerate than his own son.

"……mother……"

A silent call, unnoticed, escaped from George Yang's throat.

The name he thought he had long forgotten, the word he hadn't uttered in over twenty years, should have slipped out, but at the last moment, he bit his lip tightly. The old woman seemed to sense something; her back stiffened abruptly.

She slowly turned around, her eyes filled with tears, yet she was still smiling: "My son... my oh son... are you calling for your mother? Your mother is here!"

George Yang stood there, tears streaming down his face without him even realizing it.

He remembered that when he was a child, his mother would call him the same way—"Jianguo, Mom is here, don't be afraid."

He recalled the day the flood hit when he was seven years old. His father carried him on his head, and his mother supported him from behind, wading through the water while saying, "Jianguo, don't be afraid, Mom is here."

He remembered the day he left the country. His parents were standing at the village entrance. He got on the tractor, looked back, and saw his mother still waving and calling, "Jianguo, Mom is waiting for you at home."

She waited.

He is back.

But what returned was a man named George Young, with a wife named Mary Qin who looked down on his background, and a son who, under his influence, only knew how to despise the Daxia people.

He was too ashamed to go over there!

The old woman stood there, eagerly waiting for her son to come over and recognize her, but he never did.

He just stood there, his face covered in tears, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground.

She waited for a long time.

Only when her legs went numb, and her husband kept tugging at her sleeve from behind, did the light in her eyes gradually fade away.

"Old Yang," she said softly, "let's go."

This time, she didn't look back.