Ji Ting's fingers clenched sharply at his sides, his knuckles turning bluish white from the force as he tried to use the pain to anchor his crumbling reason.
He desperately tried to hold himself together, but when he lowered his head, his tears escaped his control, falling through the air in strings like beads from a broken thread.
Ji Yanzhi's throat tightened painfully too, as though something had lodged there. He raised a hand to Ji Ting's rigid shoulder and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
Just as he was about to say something, Ji Ting spoke. "I'm fine... You, go help... help Aunt bring out the soy milk."
That "Aunt" came out soft and broken, almost pleading.
Ji Yanzhi opened his mouth, but all his words of comfort caught in his chest. In the end, he silently lowered his hand and gave him space. "All right."
By the time Ji Yanzhi and that familiar figure carrying a bowl emerged from the kitchen, Ji Ting was already sitting at the folding dining table covered with a plastic tablecloth. His head was still bowed, his fringe hanging down to hide his reddened eyes and distraught expression, leaving only a taut profile visible.
A bowl was gently set on the tablecloth in front of him, accompanied by Aunt's voice. "The one with sugar is yours. It's a little hot, so drink slowly."
Ji Ting stiffened almost imperceptibly. He stared at the steaming bowl of soy milk before him, his vision blurred by the vapor, refusing-or rather, not daring-to look up at the figure so close to him.
Ji Yanzhi sat beside him and silently reached out, laying his hand over Ji Ting's tightly clenched one.
Just then, a chair scraped, and the "person" opposite them sat down. There were no footsteps, only