Song Qingge knelt on one knee before Leng Youchen, her delicate hands gingerly resting on his lower leg as if afraid of hurting him, her eyes like a faucet turned on, brimming with tears again, "Third Brother, are your legs better?"
Leng Youchen looked at her with mixed emotions. Song Qingge's sudden appearance before him was a big shock. At 19, he was dashing and proud, surrounded by beauties, living life carefree with a future that seemed boundless.
If not for that sudden, unforeseen conspiracy, perhaps he and she...
Leng Youchen gazed at her quietly, his eyes filled with memories and nostalgia for the past. He leaned over to grasp her wrist, gently pulling it away. He felt as if his throat was stuffed with cotton wrapped in broken glass; to make even the slightest sound, he had to put in effort and it hurt, "I'm fine."