No one cared about him as much.
No one.
The late Zhang Rong would not caress his forehead at midnight, asking if his fever had gone away. She didn't even care whether he had been badly injured. All she had cared about was how many properties he managed to get from Mo Lan and how many things he had taken away from Jing Yichen.
Even Mo Lan would not keep him company throughout the entire night. She was too old and became tired easily. Also, Mo Lan was born in an aristocratic family. She would not need to worry so much when there were professional doctors and servants taking after him.
Only Lu would come and feel his body temperature and check his situation silently in the night.
Jing Yiran opened the door and walked out.
It was a late winter night, freezing, and deadly silent.
There was no one on the street. He huddled in his overcoat and moved forward, searching everywhere.
