Qin Zhiyou quickly turned his face away; he didn't want Lu Weixi to see him in such an embarrassing state. Since the day he was born, the only time he had ever shed tears was when his father died. He had never cried otherwise, no matter the circumstances. Growing up in a household with discordant parents, an early loss of his father, and surrounded by a pack of wolves ready to pounce, he had long mastered the art of smiling—a sneer, a fake smile, a smug grin, a sinister smirk, a reckless laugh. The one thing he hadn't learned was how to cry.
Even when Lu Weixi was in danger, teetering on the edge of life and death, he didn't cry. But for some reason, the moment her eyes opened and she looked at him, tears suddenly fell from his eyes.
Lu Weixi's throat was hoarse—not only from going three days without drinking water but also because she was physically weak after giving birth. She couldn't speak, but her eyes stayed fixed on him, gazing at the back of his head, just like that.
