Just when Qiao Qiangwei encountered Fang Zhi, Fang Zhi shook her off and returned upstairs alone.
He didn't go to his own room, instead, he went to Lin Shu's room.
Lying on her bed, her pillow still carried the faint scent of cream.
Fang Zhi hugged Lin Shu's clothes and slowly closed his eyes.
He didn't know at all that Lin Shu had not actually died.
He loathed the driver who caused the accident, unaware of the person who instigated it behind the scenes.
He hated himself even more, believing that Lin Shu's accident must have been because of him.
Since Lin Shu's death, Fang Zhi's days passed with unbearable slowness, like a man wasting away. He spent his days either getting drunk in bars or sleeping in her room, holding onto Lin Shu's clothes.
Seeing his grandson wither away day after day, Mr. Fang could no longer hold back.
With a bang, he kicked open the tightly shut door, and the lying Fang Zhi looked like a lifeless body, motionless.
