Song Qingchun really didn't understand why she was crying.
At the end of the day, Su Zhinian had merely denied her suspicion that he was the person she was looking for and said that his kindness toward her was because he felt indebted to her. Was that worth her tears?
The answer should have been no, but when she returned to her bedroom and saw the toll receipt and bloodied shirt, her heart fractured, and she crumbled onto her bed. She buried her face into the soft pillows and started weeping softly to herself.
…
Su Zhinian leaned against the sofa, maintaining the same posture he had been in when Song Qingchun left his room. His gaze fell blankly on the television attached to the wall. His ears were filled with the sound of her tears.
His palms were gripping the armrest so tightly that the veins were popping up.
