Chapter 190 cannot be ignored
I had to get there; I had no other choice.
Zhou Yuce looked at her quietly, his gaze calm yet cold, no longer as gentle as before.
His eyes seemed to be covered with thick frost, revealing estrangement and disappointment: "Zhiwei, I always felt that in your heart, I was at least... an important person. Even if I wasn't the most special one, I should still have a place. But it turns out, it was all just wishful thinking on my part."
Her heart clenched suddenly, as if someone had gripped it tightly, the pain almost suffocating her.
She explained urgently, "I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have left without saying a word. But Tingzhou was really in critical condition at the time. He was alone in the hospital, delirious, and couldn't contact anyone... I really couldn't just abandon him, Uncle, do you understand?"
He gave a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, a fleeting and bitter smile, like a sigh squeezed from the depths of his throat: "In just a few days, he has completely overshadowed me in your heart. I used to think I could wait, I could persevere, I could slowly enter your world. But now I understand, perhaps... this is God's retribution for me."
Song Zhiwei frowned, her brows furrowing slightly, a hint of confusion flashing in her eyes.
She didn't quite understand what he meant, why he used such a heavy word as "retribution," or why he cared so much about Tingzhou's existence.
Zhou Yuze spoke again, his tone soft, as if he were talking to himself, or as if he were recalling a long-buried past: "When you first came back to the country, I also left you for Qiao Yiqing. That day you stood alone at the airport exit, carrying your luggage, your eyes full of expectation. But because of a phone call from Qiao Yiqing, I turned around and left without even giving you an explanation."
She was taken aback, never expecting him to suddenly bring up this old story.
That memory, like an old photograph swept up by the wind, suddenly surfaced before my eyes.
It felt as if a tiny needle had gently pricked her heart, leaving a dull, oppressive feeling. The old wound hadn't healed, and now another layer of skin had been peeled away.
He looked straight into her eyes, his gaze so deep it seemed to see into her soul: "From that moment on, the relationship between us was already broken. It wasn't because of who was right or wrong, but because once trust is shattered, no matter how hard you try to piece it back together, it can never be the same again. I just kept pretending to be naive, telling myself that it was okay, that it could be salvaged. I told myself that you were still young and didn't understand, and that when you grew up, you would understand how much I cared about you."
She bit her lip, her fingertips slightly cold, and said in a low voice, "It's all in the past, Uncle. I've forgotten all those things. I don't want to bring up the past anymore, and there's no need to."
She really didn't want to talk about those days anymore.
When she first returned to China, everything was a mess, like a tangled ball of yarn—the entanglement with Qin Yunshu was still unresolved, and her relationship with him was even more ambiguous, like walking on thin ice, with every step filled with trepidation.
All the emotions, pressure, and struggles were the ballast she carried alone, making it almost impossible for her to breathe.
Now, she has finally made it through step by step.
Life slowly returned to normal, and my heart gradually calmed down.
Looking back, those days were just a period of ups and downs in life; once they're over, they're gone.
He laughed, a smile that was more painful than tears, his eyes filled with self-mockery and sorrow: "Forgot? How could you forget? I thought... you were like me. I thought you had even felt a flicker of attraction, even just a moment's hesitation. But now? You turned and walked away for another man, without even a glance back. And that man was my best brother!"
Song Zhiwei stood frozen in place, her pupils trembling slightly, her breath catching in her throat.
She remained silent for a long time before finally speaking with difficulty, her voice weak and as if squeezed from the depths of her throat: "Uncle... did you... use the wrong words? I... I don't quite understand what you're saying."
He didn't blink, his gaze fixed on her, his deep brown eyes clear as if he could see through all the pretense and evasion: "Zhiwei, you know what I'm talking about. My feelings for you have never been the concern between uncle and niece, nor the affection of an elder for a younger generation. It's... I like you, and it started a long time ago."
His voice was hoarse: "I was so cowardly before, so incredibly cowardly. My heart was filled with you, yet I didn't even dare to say 'I like you.' I was afraid you'd be criticized, afraid the gossip would stab you like knives; I was afraid my mother would fly into a rage, pointing her finger at me and saying I'd disgraced the family; I was afraid your father would cut off all ties with me in a fit of anger; and I was even more afraid of the whole circle pointing fingers at us, saying we'd messed up the generational hierarchy and were immoral. So I kept forcing myself to calm down, forcing myself to back down, forcing myself to suppress all my emotions." In the deepest corner of my heart. I pretended to be indifferent to you, pretended to be just a caring uncle, and almost believed it myself. But... but every time I saw you holding hands with someone else on the street, saw you getting into someone else's car to go on a trip, saw you smiling so brightly and happily in front of others... my heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly, the pain keeping me awake all night. That pain wasn't intermittent; it was continuous, like a dull knife cutting flesh, bit by bit, until it reached my very bones.
A thunderbolt exploded above her head.
That uncle who always wore a white shirt, his cuffs always neatly buttoned, who spoke softly and walked with a nonchalant air...
How could he say something like that to her?
He said things she had never dared to think about or hear before.
Those emotions that had been suppressed for many years, those longings hidden behind his gaze, were actually spoken out of his mouth.
This was unlike the rational, restrained, and meticulous Shen Zhili she knew.
But it was precisely this unusual frankness that made her heart clench, almost making it hard to breathe.
She never expected that he...
He had liked her for a long time, not out of the affection of an elder for a younger generation, nor out of the bond of blood ties, but out of a feeling that far surpassed kinship.
It is the tenderness hidden in every exchange of glances, the silence after countless unspoken words, and the obsession to protect her even at the cost of hurting oneself.
That affection had long since taken root and sprouted over time, growing so much that even he himself could no longer ignore it.
She instinctively took two steps back, her steps unsteady, as if she were walking on cotton.
Her fingers trembled slightly, her fingertips were icy cold, and her voice was as soft as the wind, as if it would dissipate with a breath: "Uncle...please calm down, okay? These words...are too sudden, I...I don't understand what you're saying."
He gazed at her, his eyes as deep as a bottomless pool, churning with too many emotions she couldn't decipher—pain, regret, deep affection suppressed for years, and a hint of almost humble expectation.
After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice so deep it almost seemed to melt into the air: "Zhiwei...do you...hate me?"
She looked bewildered: "Huh?"
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