Don't you trust her either?
Lu Changhe seemed to be choked by Lu Zhiyan's words. He was furious and pointed his trembling finger at the "unfilial son" in front of him, repeatedly saying, "You, you, how can you talk to your father like that?"
Lu Zhiyan ignored him and turned to leave when suddenly there was a loud "bang," followed by a soft, painful groan from Lu Zhiyan.
The glass ashtray landed squarely on Lu Zhiyan's shoulder; a slight misstep and it could have hit the back of his head. The ashtray shattered upon impact, breaking into small shards that shimmered and sparkled under the light, like incredibly rare and expensive jewels.
Lu Zhiyan was hit, but only let out a muffled groan. He paused for a moment, but in the end, he left the cold and utterly disappointing villa without looking back amidst Lu Changhe's cursing.
Before leaving, Lu Zhiyan gave Lu Zhize a sharp look, his gaze fierce and seemingly carrying a warning or reproach. But Lu Zhize pretended not to understand, and innocently leaned forward to ask him what Lu Changhe had said.
Their ugly faces are truly disgusting.
When Lu Zhiyan came out, the snowflakes that were originally falling one or two were falling more heavily. He told the driver to go back first, and he wandered aimlessly in the snowy weather.
Lu Zhiyan walked along the road without an umbrella. Snowflakes fell one by one onto his head, shoulders, and clothes, until they melted into puddles and disappeared, leaving behind small, damp patches.
The cold wind, the drifting snow, and the dim streetlights—these scenes, pieced together, all exude a sense of desolation, perfectly reflecting Lu Zhiyan's current state of mind.
He wasn't upset by a few words from Lu Changhe or Lu Zhize; he had long been used to it and these things no longer stirred his emotions. However, during tonight's conversation, he mentioned his mother, Fang Zhiyi.
As his name suggests, his mother was a well-educated, courteous, and loyal woman. At a young age, she had already won a world-class jewelry design competition. Despite being at a crucial stage in her career, she chose to get married and have children during this most important period.
Lu Zhiyan had witnessed his mother and Lu Changhe's loving relationship after he was born. However, when he was eight years old, Fang Zhiyi was embroiled in a plagiarism scandal. Public opinion turned against him, hurling insults and slander at his mother. Ultimately, Fang Zhiyi could not bear the piercing slander and chose to end his life.
He clearly remembered that at his mother's funeral, he stared at Lu Changhe with bloodshot eyes filled with extreme anger, grabbed his collar with both hands, and questioned him hysterically, word by word: "Why didn't you help Mom clear her name? Why didn't you find evidence? Why did you just watch Mom commit suicide? Didn't you believe her either?"
That day he asked many "whys," too many to count, but Lu Changhe just looked at him quietly. Although there was sadness on his face, it wasn't much. He didn't answer Lu Zhiyan's questions, but just told him to calm down.
The father and son's relationship broke down from that point on, and they never contacted each other unless absolutely necessary. Even when Lu Changhe came to find Lu Zhiyan in person, he would only glance at him lightly, as if he were looking at a complete stranger. No, at least he had no malice or hatred towards strangers.
Less than a year after his mother's death, Lu Changhe married a new woman, and the following year, Lu Zhize was born.
His mother, Fang Zhiyi, left this world forever, carrying humiliation and resentment. Only he still remembers and misses her.
Once the floodgates were opened, his thoughts surged forth like a torrent, unstoppable and overwhelming. Even on this cold winter night, the biting air couldn't interrupt Lu Zhiyan's painful memories.
Unbeknownst to him, he had slowly walked to the motorcycle racing track, a place he hadn't visited in a long time. Since Fang Zhiyi's death, Lu Zhiyan's resentment, anger, and hatred had been building up, and he was on the verge of exploding. He had unintentionally come into contact with motorcycles, and although they were dangerous, the thrill and exhilaration they brought him could temporarily relieve his inner turmoil.
Even though it was snowing tonight and the track was slippery and dangerous, he was determined to knowingly walk into danger. Several staff members and even senior leaders came to advise Lu Zhiyan, but he wouldn't listen to a word. A single look from him was enough to intimidate them.
He was alone on the vast track with only his car. The speed increased, faster and faster, the vibrations of the engine transmitted through the fuel tank and pedals, and the wind pressure began to violently pound against his chest. At this moment, the sounds of the whole world became the sound of the wind, the roar of the engine, and the roar of the exhaust.
At this moment, Lu Zhiyan felt a unique excitement and exhilaration. Everything else was forgotten, and he was able to briefly rediscover his true self on this track.
Suddenly, a loud thud was heard, and on the track, there was only a car lying on the ground and Lu Zhiyan lying on the ground.
The sound was so dull and jarring that it startled the staff, who rushed out to check on Lu Zhiyan's condition with anxious expressions.
Lu Zhiyan sat on the ground, clutching his right arm, expressionless, staring blankly ahead. The person involved in the accident seemed completely unconcerned, much to the anxiety of those around him.
At 9:18, Song Zicheng, who had just finished showering and drying his hair, received a call from the hospital.
"Hello, are you Mr. Song?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Lu Zhiyan is currently receiving treatment in the orthopedics department of the hospital. Please come as soon as possible."
The call came suddenly, and the content of the conversation was even more unexpected for Song Zicheng. He even suspected that it was a scam call from somewhere.
He calmly replied "okay," explained the situation to Song Zi'an, and then took a taxi to the hospital while wearing his coat.
When he arrived, Cui Junyu had already completed the formalities and was waiting outside the ward.
"How is Lu Zhiyan?" Perhaps because they had walked too fast, Song Zicheng's tone was somewhat anxious at this moment.
"His right hand is fractured, and the doctor is treating it."
Just as Cui Junyu finished speaking, the ward door clicked open, and Lu Zhiyan, who was wrapped in bandages, came out following the doctor. He had been looking gloomy, but when he looked up and saw Song Zicheng, a glimmer of light flashed in his eyes. After thanking the doctor, he walked up to Song Zicheng, looked at him, and moved closer to him.
Out of a sense of responsibility and respect for the deal, Song Zicheng looked at his arm in a cast and asked perfunctorily, "Is it serious?"
Lu Zhiyan frowned, gently touched his right arm with his left hand, sighed deeply, and lamented, "It's serious."
"How did you do that?"
"I fell off my motorcycle."
"Riding a motorcycle?" Song Zicheng repeated in surprise. It had started snowing as soon as it got dark, and now the snow was getting heavier. He couldn't understand why Lu Zhiyan would ride a motorcycle on a snowy day when the roads were slippery and muddy.
Song Zicheng didn't ask Lu Zhiyan any further questions. On the way back, Cui Junyu glanced at Lu Zhiyan looking out the window. Although he couldn't see Lu Zhiyan's face or expression clearly, he could sense that Lu Zhiyan was in a bad mood.
So what if he's in a bad mood? Every day since he met Lu Zhiyan, Song Zicheng has felt like he's in deep trouble. The physical pain is secondary; the most unbearable thing is the endless mental torment.
He glanced at Lu Zhiyan's injured arm again, as if the pain was contagious. He secretly felt a dull ache in his own right arm, which made him shudder.
After getting out of the car, Song Zicheng followed Lu Zhiyan into the elevator one after the other, and then came out of the elevator one after the other.
Song Zicheng was absent-minded. When he looked up, he saw Lu Zhiyan leaning against the door, looking at him casually. Song Zicheng frowned and a look of confusion appeared on his face.
Lu Zhiyan pointed to his arm as he looked at Song Zicheng's furrowed brows. Song Zicheng seemed to have suddenly realized something, quickened his pace, and entered a password under Lu Zhiyan's gaze.
Upon hearing the door open, Song Zi'an rushed out of the room. He greeted Song Zicheng first, then walked up to Lu Zhiyan, looked up at Lu Zhiyan's arm, and asked with concern, "Uncle Lu, what happened to your arm? Is it serious?"
Lu Zhiyan chuckled softly, slowly bent down, and pinched Song Zian's cheek with his still-healthy left hand. His voice was surprisingly gentle as he said, "Thank you for your concern, Zian. Uncle Lu fell, but it's nothing serious."
Song Zian tilted his head and nodded with a hint of disbelief: "Uncle Lu, you have to be careful in the future and don't fall down again."
"Okay."
Standing to the side, Song Zicheng glanced at the clock on the living room wall: "Zian, it's ten o'clock, you need to go to sleep."
Song Zian sighed and pouted, saying, "Okay, goodnight, brother. Goodnight, Uncle Lu."
Song Zi'an's small figure receded into the distance, disappearing completely with a "thump" as the door slammed shut. Song Zicheng checked the water and electricity, then headed straight for the guest bedroom.
"Stop." Lu Zhiyan's voice rang out from behind.
Song Zicheng paused, his left foot still. He turned to look at Lu Zhiyan and asked calmly, "What's wrong?"
Lu Zhiyan gestured with his eyes to his injured arm: "Help me take off my clothes and wash up."
Song Zicheng stood still, seemingly pondering Lu Zhiyan's words. After two or three seconds, he walked forward step by step and entered the master bedroom.
No matter how late he works, even in sub-zero temperatures where he won't sweat, Lu Zhiyan takes a shower every day. The day's fatigue and exhaustion seem to be slowly washed away by the water, leaving him feeling refreshed and able to sleep soundly through the night.
In winter, people wear more and thicker clothes, which is not an easy task for someone with an injured arm, even with help.
In the months since they've known each other, Song Zicheng has never helped Lu Zhiyan undress so closely as tonight. Before, the most he did was hang Lu Zhiyan's clothes on the hanger when he came home from get off work.
The two were now facing each other, so close that Song Zicheng felt uneasy and awkward. He frowned seriously, as if he were about to face death. Lu Zhiyan was amused by his expression and stared intently at Song Zicheng with amusement. Seeing his flushed face, she suddenly felt a little thirsty.
Just as Song Zicheng's hand touched the first button of the shirt, he clearly felt and heard the sound of Lu Zhiyan's Adam's apple bobbing. The gaze above him was too intense, so Song Zicheng had to speed up his movements, as if the button was something burning hot, and if he lingered for even a moment longer, he might accidentally get a burn.
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