Zhang Lingying pressed her lips together, turned the light back on, and poured a glass of water for Lu Jing, placing it in front of him.
"My condolences."
"..."
Lu Jing glanced at the glass in her hand but didn't take it, his eyes calm to the point of coldness, "Are you pitying me?"
Zhang Lingying: "..."
"I don't need your pity." Lu Jing looked away, turning his gaze back to the dark night sky outside the window.
The sofa in Zhang Lingying's house was a standard L-shaped one, and he sat on the floor near the sofa's corner. With a coffee table in front, his long legs couldn't even stretch out, only curl up, making it a visibly uncomfortable position, one he maintained for a long time, motionless.
Zhang Lingying glanced over, her eyes flickering slightly.
When she first moved in here, every time she thought of her father, she also liked to curl up there in a daze, because that spot made her feel less lonely.
