"If you have a shred of conscience left, considering what I did for you back then, please don't appear in front of me," Cheng Zhiwei said, tilting her chin up, her tone light and delicate.
She was about to leave when Zhou Lin, almost instinctively, grabbed her wrist: "Zhiwei."
"Zhiwei." A gentle voice sounded, cutting through the suffocating atmosphere like a knife.
He Ye walked over, nodded at Zhou Lin, and then his gaze settled entirely on Cheng Zhiwei, "Why are you here? Are you not feeling well?"
"Senior," Cheng Zhiwei gathered all her negative feelings and her face blossomed into a bright smile, "I came to see a friend, what about you?"
"My mom is sick, staying here."
"Is it serious?"
"Not too bad, just an old ailment."
The two of them struck up a conversation, and in the presence of He Ye, Cheng Zhiwei visibly relaxed.
That was a side of Zhiwei that Zhou Lin had never seen before, so at ease.
It made him jealous.
