"Just asking." Jiang Jinghuai flicked away his cigarette, crushed it under his shoe, and squinted with a melancholic gaze. "Back then, it was all her fault. Even though she saved my life, I paid her back with my pride. ***." Seemingly reminded of something, he spat out another curse.
Over the years, this matter clung to him like a nightmare, entangling his dreams. It always left him with a sense of humiliation. If possible, he never wanted to see her again in this lifetime—otherwise, he might lose control and put a bullet through her!
Zhao Chun had rarely seen Jiang Jinghuai in such a dejected and melancholic state. He asked cautiously, "Did something happen between you and Wenxiu?"
"I'm going back to Beijing tomorrow," Jiang Jinghuai replied ambiguously, his eyes suddenly darkening. "If you don't start caring about yourself, you'll mess around until you kill yourself. Got a leg messed up this time—next time, will it be an arm?"
