"You're being neurotic," Song Hengjue glanced at her indifferently, pulled out a chair and sat down, grabbed her arm and pulled her in front of him, "Open it up, let me see the wound."
The man's palm was incredibly hot. Yang Qingheng swallowed hard and sat down following the force.
Song Hengjue remained silent, slowly unwrapping the bandages, his eyes lowered, lost in thought.
Yang Qingheng quickly reassured her, "I went to the hospital and it was bandaged up. It doesn't hurt anymore, so don't worry."
"You cut your hand and still went to hit someone, how can you not be stupid enough to die?" Song Hengjue stared at the wound that was about to bleed again, speechless with anger, but his hands were light as he applied the medicine, afraid that she would cry out in pain.
Yang Qingheng got angry just thinking about it, and abruptly pulled her hand back, saying sarcastically, "Oh right, it hurt so much! The other night, someone said I deserved to go hungry because I can't cook, and that I treated him like a maid. Oh, and he even said he wanted a divorce. Who's smarter than you..."
Song Hengjue was in the wrong and speechless. He picked up the bandages and medicine and put them back in the room.
After a long silence, he squatted down to look her in the eye and tried to reason with her: "Yang Qingheng, think about it carefully. You see, you don't like me, and I don't like you. Wouldn't it be better if we got a divorce? You can take the money and find a man you like... a responsible man."
Yang Qingheng was about to say, "How could I not like you?" when Song Hengjue's words, "I don't like you either," stuck in her throat. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she kicked him angrily, "If you don't like me, why did you marry me!"
Song Hengjue remained silent, repeating the same phrase over and over: "Think about it carefully."
Yang Qingheng was fed up with his stubbornness and slapped him on the head: "Get out!"
Song Hengjue breathed a sigh of relief, got up and strode out.
"Ouch, he's bleeding!"
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