Zhou Zhuo’s gaze lingered on Wen Mingyao’s picturesque brows and eyes, finally settling on her thin lips.
After staring for a long while, his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, and a cold laugh escaped his throat. “Wen Mingyao, you’d better keep your word!”
Yet, the hand hanging at his side had unknowingly clenched into a tight fist.
As soon as his words fell, an indescribable bitterness surged in Wen Mingyao’s heart.
Zhou Zhuo didn’t like her. Back then, the only reason he married her was because he couldn’t refuse his grandfather, forced into a hasty marriage out of helplessness.
This, she understood better than anyone.
But Zhou Zhuo had once treated her exceptionally well.
During high school, every time there was a holiday, Zhou Zhuo would take her out shopping or to the movies. Every two or three weeks, when he managed to save a little money, he would treat her to a meal at a state-run restaurant.
After joining the military, he would always bring her a small gift whenever he returned home.
Sometimes it was the vanishing cream she liked to use, sometimes a small stack of ration tickets he had saved for a long time, and sometimes a tank model or pencil holder he had personally made from bullet casings.
Back then, she thought Zhou Zhuo liked her too.
So, when her grandfather asked her to choose for herself, she chose Zhou Zhuo without hesitation.
But later, just before their wedding, during Zhou Zhuo’s last visit home, he changed.
He became extremely cold toward her. In public, they appeared respectful and affectionate, but in private, he despised her to the core.
Wen Mingyao shook her head with a bitter smile, trying to shake these memories from her mind.
After a moment of silence, she spoke softly with a light laugh. “Don’t worry, I, Wen Mingyao, despise clinging the most!”
“I know this marriage was never the outcome you wanted. If someday you meet someone you like, you can tell me.”
“I’ll set you free!”
Her intention was to reassure Zhou Zhuo.
Unexpectedly, something in her words seemed to provoke him.
A cold sneer escaped Zhou Zhuo’s thin lips, and the air around him instantly turned icy, as if frozen over. He stared at her intently.
Wen Mingyao’s smile remained unchanged as she met his indifferent gaze directly.
For some reason, the man seemed to be gritting his teeth, faintly seething.
The two remained locked in a stalemate for so long that Wen Mingyao was almost ready to give up when Zhou Zhuo finally gritted his teeth, turned his face away indifferently, and spoke in a low voice.
“Go get ready. We’ll head to the cafeteria for dinner later.”
The abrupt change of topic was so swift that even Wen Mingyao couldn’t help but marvel.
But she said nothing, simply stood up, picked up her suitcase, and walked into the bedroom.
Zhou Zhuo sat at the table, staring intently in the direction she had gracefully departed, feeling a sudden heaviness in his chest.
When Wen Mingyao had said she wanted to marry him, he had agreed.
But later, just before the wedding, he discovered…
Now she was already thinking of divorce.
Fine! Just fine!
She decides to marry, and now she decides to divorce?
Does she treat the marriage certificate as a joke?
And what does she take him for? A dog she can summon and dismiss at will?
If they divorced, Wen Mingyao would get what she wanted. But what about him? What would he do? Who would care about his feelings…
Zhou Zhuo’s hand trembled as he poured himself a glass of water. A chill slowly flowed down his throat, forcibly suppressing the turmoil in his chest.
In the next moment, as if he had realized something, the corners of his lips curled into a cold, mocking smile.
His slender fingers suddenly tightened around the glass, gripping it tighter and tighter.
When Wen Mingyao had finished tidying up and stepped out, the first thing that greeted her eyes was Zhou Zhuo’s expressionless face.
Wen Mingyao reached out and patted her stomach, her tone gentle. “Let’s go, I’m hungry!”
Zhou Zhuo lifted his eyelids and glanced at her, his expression suddenly turning cold.
Wen Mingyao was wearing a blue-and-white checkered shirt dress, her hair braided into a slightly loose and lazy plait that rested naturally on her slender shoulders. A few stray strands of hair at her temples added a touch of casualness, giving her an intellectual and gentle air.
Zhou Zhuo’s gaze gradually darkened, and his Adam’s apple involuntarily bobbed.
But it was only for a moment. Then, his brows furrowed slightly as his eyes traveled from her slightly curved, thin lips downward, lingering for a moment on her slender waist before finally settling on her long, toned calves.
At this sight, the crease between his brows deepened abruptly, and he gritted his teeth. “Wen Mingyao, who told you to dress like this?”
“This is a military district. Please pay attention to your attire! Look at you, showing your arms and legs—what kind of appearance is that?”
Hearing this, Wen Mingyao couldn’t help but freeze for a moment.
Following Zhou Zhuo’s gaze, she lowered her eyes to look at herself. The hem of the dress reached almost to her ankles, and it didn’t seem inappropriate at all.
She frowned again and glanced at her arms—they were just like a regular short-sleeved top.
Besides, she used to dress like this often back in Rongcheng, and Zhou Zhuo had never said anything about it then.
Why was he nitpicking now?
Wen Mingyao’s gaze fell on her white leather shoes, and a flicker of embarrassment passed through her eyes. An inexplicable sourness churned uncontrollably in her chest.
Indeed, when someone disliked you, everything you did would be wrong in their eyes.
Her eyes grew hot, and she sniffled, forcing back the tears that had gathered in her eyes.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she raised her head, uttered an “Oh,” and without looking at him again, pushed the door open and walked straight out.
Zhou Zhuo turned sideways, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on her elegant and slender figure, his chest heaving violently a few times.
He strode forward, tightly grasping her bony wrist, and pulled her in front of him, enunciating each word clearly. “Wen Mingyao, go change out of that dress!”
His tone carried an undeniable edge.
Wen Mingyao endured the sharp pain in her wrist, her brows slightly furrowed. “Zhou Zhuo, let go, you’re hurting me!”
Her soft, delicate voice made Zhou Zhuo’s heart tremble.
He couldn’t help but freeze for a moment, and the grip on her wrist unconsciously loosened slightly.
Wen Mingyao… she had actually called him Zhou Zhuo.
Not “Zhou Zhuo-ge,” but… Zhou Zhuo.
This voice, this tone, was exactly the same as when she used to shake his arm and act coquettishly.
It had been a long, long time since he had seen Wen Mingyao like this.
Seizing the opportunity, she quickly pulled her hand free and looked at it—it was indeed red.
Her skin was naturally fair and delicate, and with Zhou Zhuo’s tight grip, it would likely turn from red to purple by evening.
Wen Mingyao wiped away the mist at the corners of her eyes and glared at him irritably. “Are you coming or not?”
Her long eyelashes were dotted with a few droplets of moisture, and the slightly upturned corners of her eyes were tinged with a faint red.
Her watery eyes glared slightly, causing Zhou Zhuo’s ears to flush a little.
It wasn’t until a faint warmth spread from his ears that Zhou Zhuo realized what had just happened.
A flicker of regret passed through his eyes. He lowered his gaze and gave a light cough, attempting to conceal his earlier lapse.
In the end, he said nothing, only striding away with a retreating figure that carried a distinct air of fleeing in disarray.