They looked at each other for a long time, until Wen Yanyu looked away first, lowering his eyes to avoid Fu Hanchuan's gaze.
"I'm sorry."
Wen Yanyu did not answer the question directly.
Afraid that something unusual would be noticed, Fu Hanchuan released Wen Yanyu's hand and turned away, not daring to look back.
The air sank into suffocating silence again.
In the darkness, Fu Hanchuan swallowed with difficulty. His tightly clenched fists shook uncontrollably, and his teeth chattered.
Fu Hanchuan did not turn around. He dared not see Wen Yanyu's eyes, afraid of encountering that despairing truth.
Fate had played another joke on him.
He wanted to try to deceive himself, but his heart would not allow it.
"Do you hate me?"
Fu Hanchuan tried hard to steady his voice, but it still shook terribly when he spoke.
Wen Yanyu said nothing.
Fu Hanchuan clenched his fists, his eyes growing hot and wet.
He answered the question himself.
Yes.
How could he not?
Who would willingly be a supporting character in someone else's story, losing their family, friends, dreams, and sense of self because of another person, even indirectly suffering years of torment because of that person?
Even being hurt by that person time and again, constantly giving in.
How could he not hate him?
How could he love him?
Who would fall in love with an abuser, with a madman, with someone as despicable as him, who dreamed of binding another person with love and pain?
A bitter fruit burst in his mouth, its bitterness spilling everywhere, numbing his tongue until he could not say a word.
It was the bitter fruit he had planted with his own hands.
The person he loved had suffered endless torment in those years he knew nothing about, wounded all over, while