The floor-to-ceiling windows were thrown wide open, sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, hazy like a framed oil painting.
Song Junyan and Song Man were sitting on the sofa. With their backs to the window, their expressions were hard to make out, though one could vaguely see Song Man’s body trembling.
Shen Zhiyin rushed in first: “What are you two doing?”
Ruan Wenhua furrowed her brows.
Song Junyan, however, said, “Uncle Li, please go get the first-aid kit.”
Ruan Wenhua’s gaze swept over the trouser leg Song Man had rolled up—the shocking blood on her knee made her expression change abruptly. “How did you get hurt?”
Song Junyan: “Ask her.”
There was almost no emotion on his face, and his tone was calm, as if the one who had just violently conquered her wasn’t Song Junyan himself.
Song Man bit her lip hard, her eyes and nose both red. “I just tripped on the carpet and hit the corner of the table.”
“How could you be so careless!”
Ruan Wenhua’s eyes were full of heartache, and she simultaneously turned to wave at Uncle Li, signaling him to hurry and get the first-aid kit.
Shen Zhiyin stepped forward at that moment, and upon seeing Song Man’s wound, she gasped and covered her mouth. “Where did you hit it? It’s so serious!”
As she spoke, she subtly squeezed between the two and sat down in front of Song Man.
A faint salty scent, like seawater after evaporation, rushed into her nostrils. Shen Zhiyin paused, then looked at Song Man.
After the two families had established their relationship, there was no shortage of interaction, and she had dealt with this adopted daughter of the Song family a few times.
But she didn’t have a deep impression of Song Man, only feeling that this person was very obedient—that kind of quiet obedience that came from within, like a ball of cotton that anyone could squeeze at will, and that anyone would forget upon touching.
But right now, her hair was loose, and sweat beads were forming on her forehead and nose. She looked extremely disheveled, yet she carried more of a wild, vibrant beauty than usual—a strong visual impact.
In her daze, Uncle Li hurried into the study carrying the first-aid kit.
Shen Zhiyin naturally took it over, and before anyone could react, she opened the kit on her own.
Song Man had wanted to say “I’ll do it myself,” but the moment the cotton swab touched her wound, the pain made her involuntarily hiss.
Shen Zhiyin glanced at her and said, “It won’t hurt in a moment. But you’re hurt this badly—why didn’t you answer when I knocked earlier?”
Song Man wasn’t sure whether Shen Zhiyin’s words carried a hidden meaning.
But there was no denying that the moment she heard them, guilt, fear… countless emotions surged up all at once. Song Man didn’t dare meet Shen Zhiyin’s eyes, nor did she know how to respond.
Song Junyan’s gaze swept over. “She hit it too hard and was too busy looking at the wound.”
Song Junyan always paid attention to both parties’ experience in such matters and was usually very gentle.
Today, perhaps he was angered by Song Man’s words, or perhaps the situation earlier had brewed a certain thrill—either way, he was especially fierce, slamming into her until her heart and liver felt shattered, and her legs gave way, sending her knee crashing into the table corner.
Song Man’s face burned, yet she was also terrified, afraid that his ambiguous answer might be read into by others.
Beside her, Ruan Wenhua chided, “Then why did you lock the door? Worried that Man’er might do something like last time, silently signing up for the study abroad spot?”
Ruan Wenhua’s maiden family was in Shanghai, in the medical device import-export trade. After marrying Song Lianming and moving to Yecheng, as the vice president of the city’s largest hospital, she had plenty of social engagements and gradually learned the local dialect. But sometimes, when she spoke casually, she still slipped into Wu dialect.
Song Junyan didn’t answer, only asking, “Why did you come up?”
Ruan Wenhua said, “I wanted to ask what you’ll wear for the engagement banquet—Chinese style or Western style?”
“Either is fine.”
“Then Western style it is, and Chinese style for the wedding?” Shen Zhiyin beamed with joy, then suddenly turned to look at Song Man. “Man’er, what do you think?”
“What would she know?” Song Junyan scoffed, his gaze not landing on Song Man at all. “Let’s go with what you said.”
“Really?”
“It’s your wedding, so your opinion matters most.”
Shen Zhiyin’s eyes lit up, and she bounced over to Song Junyan, hooking her arm around his. “Junyan, you’re so wonderful.”
The man said nothing, but his expression was exceptionally gentle—far better than when he’d been talking about her just moments ago.
Song Man had thought that having told Song Junyan she wanted to end things today, she could already accept everything with equanimity.
But facing it head-on, she still couldn’t help the sting in her heart.
Song Man quietly finished bandaging her wound. At this moment, she was immensely grateful that she could use her injury to hide her reddened eyes.
“I’ll go back to my room and change into a new set of clothes.”
Ruan Wenhua saw her limping—there was no way she could host the Shen family in that state—so she instructed Butler Li to escort Song Man back to her bedroom.
“Have a doctor come by to check on it later. A girl shouldn’t be left with scars—it won’t look nice when she wears skirts in the future.”
Shen Zhiyin suddenly spoke up: “Let me help Man’er back to her bedroom.”
As she said this, she took hold of Song Man’s arm.
The moment she drew close, the salty, damp scent grew stronger. Shen Zhiyin’s eyes darkened—she hadn’t misread it after all.
That sound, half-hidden by the door just now, was definitely not her imagination!