At the inpatient department of Provincial First Hospital, Chen An was urgently searching for the ward when Wang Liting, who happened to be outside taking a phone call, caught him and pulled him aside. Without time for much explanation, she said, “Grandma’s asleep, nothing serious.”

Chen An’s suspended heart finally settled. At the cinema entrance, he’d suddenly received a call from Wang Liting saying that Grandma had taken a fall. He’d driven the whole way in fear and trepidation.

Chen An entered the ward and saw Grandma sleeping peacefully. After a while, Wang Liting also came in and said quietly, “Her bottom hit the ground first, then she rolled once. The doctor said nothing was injured. People in their seventies and eighties can least afford to fall—this is a blessing in disguise.”

“Mm.” Chen An let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Grandma was just mentioning you earlier. Stay with her for a bit when she wakes up.”

“Okay.”

Seeing her son’s complexion wasn’t very good, Wang Liting asked, “The company hasn’t had any problems recently, has it?”

“No.”

Wang Liting saw he didn’t seem to want to talk much. After hesitating beside him for a while, thinking that she usually couldn’t catch him anyway, she asked nosily, “How are things going with that Lin Jiaqi?”

Chen An raised his eyebrows and said in a dry tone, “I helped her solve the matter she asked me to handle. As for the aspect you were hoping for, there’s no follow-up.”

That Lin Jiaqi was the child of Wang Liting’s friend. Before the pandemic, she’d run back from America. She was pretty and had an outgoing personality. Wang Liting had painstakingly arranged a meeting to introduce the two to each other. At the time, Chen An had been quite gracious and hadn’t walked away with a scowl on his face, so she’d thought there was hope. In the end, it was still a false joy.

Wang Liting actually wasn’t eager for Chen An to get married. After all, he was still very young, and she wasn’t the type of traditional parent fixated on holding grandchildren. But seven years ago, Chen An had been so dispirited and emaciated that he’d nearly lost his life—that sight had been too shocking. Although these years had been calm on the surface, as if everything had passed, the fact that he never mentioned Cheng Lele yet was obsessed with going back and forth to Taixi was like an arsenal that could explode at any moment, making her feel uneasy all the time.

Wang Liting hadn’t expected Chen An to speak so directly. She smacked her lips but didn’t bother him further.

For the next two days, Chen An stayed at the hospital accompanying Grandma. Grandma was getting old and loved bringing up things from Chen An’s childhood. His childhood was bound together with another person. As Grandma talked on and on, relying on being the family matriarch, she fearlessly brought up Cheng Lele, saying she had a sweet mouth and was cheerful with everyone.

Grandma also said that her mouth wasn’t affectedly sweet—Lele was naturally generous. When she had a small conflict with someone, regardless of whether it was her fault or not, she’d be the first to step forward and admit it, not petty like other girls.

Chen An casually peeled an orange for Grandma. Hearing this, he recalled that phrase floating in the wind: “Please forgive me.”

He didn’t really remember what state he’d been in when he heard those words that day. Perhaps he’d fled in panic again, or perhaps he’d walked away calmly and coolly. If he analyzed it calmly now, his first reaction upon hearing those words should have been shock. He asked himself—although his temper and mood hadn’t been great at the time, his tone hadn’t been particularly sharp, nor had he pressed her too hard, so this plea for forgiveness had been completely outside his expectations.

Immediately after should have been fury. Because Cheng Lele had said it too easily, too casually, as if it were the kind of thing she’d say after accidentally stepping on his foot. If she truly had such intentions, she wouldn’t have avoided him these past years, wouldn’t have come looking for him, hiding herself away. Her tone was more like it contained a subtext—since everyone would have to see each other regularly from now on, let’s each take a step back. That kind of making-do, compromising, helpless feeling was simply adding fuel to the fire.

Actually, there were many other emotions mixed in too. Her meek and obedient appearance reminded him of years ago when a certain someone, after doing something wrong, would follow behind him like a shameless dog, shamelessly begging for understanding—there was a moment of being transported back in time. There was also his tiny bit of conjecture, speculating that what she meant was that seven years ago, she actually hadn’t been that uncomfortable, just too rash and afraid, choosing escape and hurting him in the process. But these emotions were all very faint, very subtle, negligible.

His thoughts were too complex. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out how he should face Cheng Lele going forward. Fortunately, after these two days of calming down, he was at least no longer as restless and anxious as he’d been a few days ago.

People have a self-protection mechanism. After being hurt, they’ll avoid suffering the same harm again. Chen An’s general direction was still clear—when seeing Cheng Lele again, he had to prevent himself from sinking in once more.

Of course, he’d never climbed out of that pit from start to finish, but he had to have a heart that strove for progress. He couldn’t just give up and settle down permanently in that pit.

However, he also couldn’t immediately exclude her from his space all at once. These seven years, he’d been like a speck of dust floating in the air for too long. The moment he saw her, it was as if he’d sensed universal gravitation and finally had a place to land.

In his eyes, she was both poison and medicine. Chen An thought, perhaps controlling the dosage properly was also a form of treatment.

For instance, purely treating her as just a subordinate. If seven years of shock therapy still couldn’t break the addiction, then put her in front of him as a mental placebo, then gradually reduce the frequency of meetings. Once he became numb and adapted, perhaps there wouldn’t be such dramatic ups and downs anymore, and he could control the damage to the smallest possible range.

Just like a rubber tree that gets used to having only a thin layer of skin peeled away each time, offering up a portion of tears, leaving fine, dense scars that could be healed by sunlight and rain.

At least it wouldn’t be like before, fatally chopped down by a large axe.