Before parting, Old Dong gave her another medicine bottle and instructed her, "Take one pill every half month to protect your heart."
Song Qingyou was speechless: "This medicine... must be very rare."
Old Dong waved his hand: "Medicine is for treating illnesses; there's no such thing as rare or precious."
Song Qingyou's throat felt bitter: "Thank you, teacher. I've troubled you for so many years..."
Mr. Dong frowned and said, "I'm not only your teacher, but also a doctor. As a doctor, it's my duty to save lives and treat illnesses."
Song Qingyou said sincerely, "But I still want to thank you."
Mr. Dong waved his hand again.
After saying goodbye to Mr. Dong, Song Qingyou went to the construction site for inspection, and then held another meeting, keeping her busy until after 9 p.m.
As I stepped out of the company, a cold wind swept over me. Before I could even feel the chill, someone hugged me, their tall figure blocking out the gusts of cold wind.
Song Qingyou frowned slightly. "Let go."
Fu Wenzhou pretended not to hear, picked her up and put her in the car, then stepped on the gas, giving Song Qingyou no time to resist.
Upon arriving home, Song Qingyou got out of the car first, followed closely by Fu Wenzhou.
His leg injury had mostly healed, and although he still felt a slight pain when walking, it was nothing compared to the pain Song Qingyou ignored.
Fu Wenzhou followed her into the second bedroom, then turned around and locked the door.
Upon hearing the voice, Song Qingyou's expression darkened: "Wasn't I clear enough yesterday?"
Fu Wenzhou's voice was hoarse, and his eyes were dull and gray, clearly indicating that he hadn't rested in a long time: "You've made it very clear, but I don't want to. I don't want to calm down, and I don't want to sleep separately from you."
Song Qingyou's face turned cold: "We're in a relationship. I'm not your possession. I hope you can respect my wishes."
Fu Wenzhou gritted his teeth, his voice almost breaking down: "But we just had a fight! Fights can be made up!"
"So, can I not make up with you now?" Song Qingyou's face turned red with anger. "Fu Wenzhou, is it that you can only understand what others say, but not what I say?"
Fu Wenzhou pressed his tongue hard against his back teeth: "What do you mean by not wanting to make up?"
“The literal meaning.” Song Qingyou’s voice trembled. “Now, please leave. If you don’t leave, then I will.”
Fu Wenzhou felt like he was going crazy. It felt like something heavy was pressing on his chest, and his throat felt like it was being gripped by a hand. Every breath required a great deal of effort.
Finally, he turned around and slammed the door shut with a "bang".
But just as the door was about to make a loud noise, he managed to stop it with his arm.
In the end, the door that should have borne the brunt of the anger remained completely unharmed, as if nothing had happened.
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