Jiang Sifan said nothing.
He remembered how he had called Lu Fan a bastard and a scumbag, accusing him of wronging their mother all those years ago.
And now, here he stood, facing two girls, unable to bear letting either of them go.
He suddenly wondered, 'What's the difference between me and the Lu Fan from all those years ago?'
Lu Fan looked at him, his tone turning serious. "Sifan, I'm not going to tell you to choose one, nor am I going to tell you to have both. I'll just say this: I was a bastard back then, and because of it, I lost your mother. I've regretted it for nineteen years. You're still young. Don't give yourself anything to regret."
Jiang Sifan lifted his head and looked at Lu Fan.
There was no blame in his eyes, no mockery—only something indefinable.
It was like understanding, like acceptance, and also like the weary resignation of someone who had walked the same path.
"I understand," Jiang Sifan said, lowering his head.
