Zhou Zhuo applied the ointment to Wen Mingyao, his gaze lingering on the large, scattered abrasions on her knees, his eyes darkening.
“Wen Mingyao!” After a long while, Zhou Zhuo looked at her deeply, his voice slightly low. “Why resort to such a method that harms the enemy a thousand but costs you eight hundred?”
The sudden question sent a jolt through Wen Mingyao’s heart.
Zhou Zhuo had realized that the abrasions on her body were deliberately inflicted.
But she had no other choice.
As a newcomer, she knew very few people in this residential compound.
Earlier, she had carefully observed and understood that the neighbors in this compound usually avoided Granny Qian and her grandson at all costs.
Under such circumstances, who would step forward to help her?
In terms of strength, she was no match for Granny Qian either.
Moreover, her previous abrasions had long since healed without a trace.
With no evidence left, she had no choice but to resort to this desperate measure.
Though it was painful, at least it delivered a decisive blow.
Wen Mingyao raised her eyes and forced a faint smile, her voice soft. “Because here, I can only rely on myself.”
Seeing the calmness in her eyes, Zhou Zhuo’s sharp, defined jawline tightened for a moment.
He lowered his head and glanced at the matchstick in his hand, feeling a deep sense of irony.
She would rather hurt herself than rely on him…
So, in Wen Mingyao’s eyes, he, as her husband, had always been dispensable.
From beginning to end, she had been hoping for an early divorce.
After a long pause, Zhou Zhuo took a deep breath and silently continued wiping her fingers, one by one, with meticulous care.
His long, thick eyelashes cast two faint shadows on his cool, pale face.
Wen Mingyao felt his fingertips gently brushing against her fingers, the cool touch gradually warming.
Her face grew hotter and hotter.
Wen Mingyao nervously swallowed, her fingertips instinctively trembling slightly.
“Does the wound hurt?”
Zhou Zhuo’s indifferent voice broke the silence, and Wen Mingyao’s breath hitched.
“No.” Wen Mingyao’s fingertips trembled slightly as she thought to herself, why is Zhou Zhuo being so slow?
Zhou Zhuo looked up, and Wen Mingyao unexpectedly met his cool, clear eyes, quickly turning her face away in a fluster.
Then, pretending as if nothing had happened, she curved her lips and whispered, “I’m hungry.”
Zhou Zhuo gave a faint “mm” in response, wiped his hands, and disappeared through the doorway.
Once he was out of sight, the curve of Wen Mingyao’s lips quickly faded, and she let out a long sigh of relief.
In front of the stove, Zhou Zhuo stared at the food in the pot for several minutes before his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.
He was finding Wen Mingyao more and more difficult to understand.
When Zhou Zhuo returned to the bedroom, he was holding a large bowl and handed Wen Mingyao a pair of chopsticks.
Wen Mingyao stared blankly at the bowl, its opening larger than her face, realizing that Zhou Zhuo had served all the food together.
“This is too much. I can’t finish it.” In these times, everything was rationed, and waste was not an option.
Zhou Zhuo picked up the washbasin, his tone as indifferent as ever. “Eat as much as you can.”
With that, he walked straight out.
Wen Mingyao watched his retreating figure, tears suddenly dripping onto the rim of the bowl.
It had been a long time since she had seen this side of Zhou Zhuo.
So long that she had almost come to believe he was always cold and distant toward her.
Wen Mingyao reached out and wiped her eyes roughly.
Though she understood this was exactly what Zhou Zhuo had once meant by “Since we’re married, I’ll give you the respect you deserve in public,” and knew it was merely a facade of marital affection he projected outwardly.
Yet she seemed to glimpse once again the Zhou Zhuo from before their marriage—the one who, though often cold and sharp with his words, had cared for her in every possible way.
This long-lost feeling was truly wonderful!
But such a good Zhou Zhuo would soon no longer belong to her.
The thought alone made her heart ache unbearably.
Wen Mingyao sat curled up on the bed, holding a large bowl in one hand while mechanically picking up food with the other.
Tears fell uncontrollably.
She sniffled and ate faster and faster.
By the time Zhou Zhuo came in to collect the dishes, Wen Mingyao had already placed the bowl and chopsticks on the bedside table. She lay on her side with her back to him.
Zhou Zhuo glanced over, as if knowing she wasn’t asleep. “I took the afternoon off. Get some proper rest first. When you wake up, I’ll wash your hair for you.”
Hearing this, Wen Mingyao stiffened, burying half her face in the pillow without saying a word.
She simply let her tears slowly soak the pillowcase.
In the kitchen, Zhou Zhuo looked at the damp rim of the bowl, his thumb lightly brushing over it.
He recalled Wen Mingyao’s tearful, blurred eyes earlier, and her gaze filled with grievance…
Zhou Zhuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily a few times, his fingers suddenly gripping the edge of the cabinet until they turned white from the force.
He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. Only after a long while did his slightly furrowed brow gradually relax, and he opened his eyes again.
He sighed softly, “Still such a crybaby.”
Then, looking at the bowl still more than half full of food, Zhou Zhuo very naturally picked up the chopsticks and began eating heartily.
As the rich, tangy aroma spread in his mouth, the corners of his eyes curved slightly.
When he was young, his grandfather had been stationed in the Northeast Upper District, and he and A-Yue had lived there for a few years.
Pickled Vegetable Noodles was a famous dish there, typically made with pickled cabbage, pork belly, and glass noodles.
But he particularly liked the version made with cabbage cut into thick strips and stir-fried with vinegar.
Zhou Zhuo finished the food without changing his expression, finally feeling a sense of fullness in his slightly empty stomach.
Although he was a deputy commander, he couldn’t slack on physical training, equipment skills, tactical command, or the corresponding theoretical assessments.
Not only that, his training standards were higher, not lower, than those of ordinary soldiers.
Thus, his appetite had always been substantial.
Zhou Zhuo chuckled softly: Besides, the food Wen Mingyao had eaten seemed to taste even better.
…
When Wen Mingyao woke up and washed her face, it was already past three in the afternoon.
The study door was left slightly ajar, and a cool breeze drifted through the gap, gently lifting a corner of her navy-blue dress.
Wen Mingyao glanced back as if casually—Zhou Zhuo wasn’t in the study.
Just as she was wondering, before she could think further, hurried footsteps approached, and the heavy solid wood door was pulled open.
A tall, slender figure abruptly filled her vision.
Wen Mingyao quickly lowered her gaze and turned to leave.
As if sensing something, Zhou Zhuo paused slightly and turned to look at her. His voice, no longer as flat as usual, carried a hint of breathlessness.
“Awake?”
His voice reached her ears, and Wen Mingyao stiffly nodded.
Seeing this, Zhou Zhuo frowned slightly. After catching his breath and drinking half a mug of warm water, he spoke unhurriedly:
“I just went to the Security Section. If nothing unexpected happens, the handling result should be out by tomorrow.”
Wen Mingyao was slightly taken aback. So when he went out earlier, it was actually for her…
Her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her skirt. Wen Mingyao’s lips trembled for a long while before she finally found her voice.
“Th-thank you!”
The crease between Zhou Zhuo’s brows deepened slightly.