Two hours later, the storm finally began to subside.
Chen Lin held Song Qiuya tightly against him, her body limp and her hair damp with sweat, gently rubbing his chin against her smooth forehead.
The air still carried the lingering smoke of a fierce battle.
He could feel the barely perceptible trembling of the body in his arms. Tenderness and guilt nearly burst his heart, leaving his voice dry and strained.
"Qiu Ya... are you still angry with me?"
Song Qiuya remained motionless, her face buried deep in his chest.
Only their overlapping breaths broke the silence.
That deathly stillness suffocated Chen Lin more than any hysterical crying ever could.
At last, he felt a patch of warm dampness spread through the fabric over his chest. Then a faint, deeply aggrieved sigh drifted from his arms, muffled against him.
"Why would I be angry?"
Her voice was thick and nasal, as mournful as cold late-autumn rain.
"Li Xiaoyue did it to save your life, didn't she?"
"I just... I just feel this tightness in my chest..."
She neither sobbed nor demanded answers.
But that very understanding and consideration became an invisible knife, plunging straight into Chen Lin's softest spot before twisting viciously.
"I'm sorry..."
Beyond those words, he could say nothing.
"Then... what are you going to do about Li Xiaoyue?" Song Qiuya shifted in his arms, her voice still muffled.
Chen Lin had already answered that question in his heart.
Without the slightest hesitation, he spoke heavily but with absolute resolve. "I was Sister Xiaoyue's first man. I have to take responsibility for her."
The instant those words fell.
Song Qiuya's body went rigid.
She abruptly lifted her head, her eyes red from crying as she stared at Chen Lin, shock surging through them like towering waves.
"What did