Leng Shaoqing thought of the crisp slap he had heard, and the helpless, desperate look in her eyes as she gazed at him. Suddenly, his chest felt empty, as if an endless cold wind had seeped in.
However, thinking of Ji Yan who was still undergoing dialysis, he clenched his fists and resolutely turned to leave.
Ye Rui was a quick reader. Jiang Haoran hadn't returned yet, and she had already closed the pages of the book in her hands, turning her head to gaze out the window into the deepening night.
There were a few pots of flowers on the windowsill, clearly neglected, each one half-dead.
Ye Rui got up and walked over, feeling a bit heartbroken. Flowers, like people, have their own lives. Thirsting for care, some can thrive abundantly, while others suffer a fate worse than death in negligent hands.
She found some tools and fertilizer in the cabinet. Although Jiang Haoran did not know how to tend to flowers, he had all the necessary items.
