Five years without pregnancy means you're too weak; I remarried a powerful man and had triplets

The nurses' station was quiet for a few seconds.

A young nurse jogged over, carrying iodine and gauze. She carefully knelt down and said softly, "Ms. Shen, let me help you."

Shen Zhiyi wanted to say something, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Lu Zichuan standing next to her, his jawline taut like a fully drawn string, his brows furrowed so tightly they could trap a fly.

He watched the nurse disinfect her with his eyes downcast, his expression even more tense than if he himself were injured.

She suddenly stopped struggling.

The moment the iodine was applied to her wrist, the stinging sensation made her fingertips twitch slightly.

Lu Zichuan's hand immediately covered hers, his palm dry and warm, gently supporting the back of her hand, as if silently telling her: If it hurts, hold on, I'm here.

Shen Zhiyi looked down at his fingers, which were long and strong with distinct knuckles, yet he was carefully supporting her purplish wrist, even his breathing was soft.

The nurse worked quickly, disinfecting the wound, applying ointment, and loosely wrapping it with gauze twice.

As she stood up, she stole a glance at Lu Zichuan and asked in a low voice, "Mr. Lu, is there anything else you need?"

"No need." Lu Zichuan released her hand and turned to look at the nurse: "Thank you for your hard work."

The nurse blushed and waved her hands repeatedly, saying, "It's not hard work at all!"

After the nurse returned to the station, Shen Zhiyi looked down at her wrist, which was wrapped loosely and softly, like a precious treasure being carefully treated.

"...I'm really fine," she said softly. "I just pinched it a little too hard; it'll go away in a couple of days."

Lu Zichuan didn't respond.

He half-squatted down and knelt on one knee in front of her, a gesture that drew the attention of several doctors passing by.

He raised his hand, his fingertips lightly touching the edge of the gauze to make sure it wasn't too tight, before looking up at her.

Looking up from this angle, his eyebrows and eyes lacked their usual oppressive quality, instead revealing an almost devout focus.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

Shen Zhiyi paused for a moment, then shook her head: "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"That's a lie."

He stood up, picked up his burgundy suit jacket from the chair next to him, and gently draped it over her shoulders.

His coat still carried his body heat and the faint scent of sandalwood, enveloping her completely.

"Let's go," he said. "I'll take you home."

"I..." Shen Zhiyi opened her mouth, wanting to say no, but swallowed the words back.

She looked down at the gauze on her wrist and suddenly felt a lump in her throat.

It's not because of pain.

It was because of this person who, when she was being pushed by the whole world to jump into a fire pit, kicked open the door and pulled her out.

"Lu Zichuan," she called his name softly.

"Um?"

"Would you like to go for a drink with me?"

He paused, turned his head to look at her, and a barely perceptible look of surprise flashed in his eyes.

But soon he nodded again: "Okay."

Shen Zhiyi was exceptionally relaxed tonight.

Lu Zichuan was driving beside her. She was leaning against the car window, half her face pressed against the glass, her nose almost touching the window frame.

The night wind blew in through the cracks, making her bangs fly wildly across her forehead, but she didn't care. She just peeked out with her head half-exposed, like a small animal finally released from its cage. (Dangerous action, please do not imitate)

Upon seeing a barbecue stall billowing with steam by the roadside, she suddenly sat up straight, poked her finger at the car window, and exclaimed with surprising brightness, "I want to eat that!"

Lu Zichuan glanced at it from the side.

It was an ordinary roadside stall with a crooked plastic sign with red background and white lettering. Several folding tables were placed on the roadside, with empty beer crates and disposable tableware piled up next to them.

The fumes mixed with the aroma of cumin wafted far and wide, and several shirtless men were eating skewers, drinking, and laughing loudly.

He frowned slightly, instinctively feeling that she shouldn't be eating in a place like this.

But when he turned his head and saw her longing expression, his brows slowly relaxed.

"Okay," he said, turning on his turn signal, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of indulgence, "then we'll eat that."

After parking the car, Shen Zhiyi practically jumped out, ran over happily, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the barbecue stall.

She walked with a light step, as if she were walking on cotton. Her injured hand was wrapped in gauze, but her other hand was clenched tightly, as if afraid he would run away.

Lu Zichuan was pulled along by her, his steps following somewhat passively. He glanced down at himself, wearing a burgundy handmade suit, a custom-made Italian shirt, limited-edition Patek Philippe cufflinks, and shoes polished so brightly they reflected his image.

Looking around, there were plastic stools, disposable chopsticks, greasy tabletops, and bamboo skewers scattered all over the floor.

He was silent for two seconds.

Then he pulled out a folding stool and sat down.

The stool beneath him creaked under the weight, as if protesting against this expensive object that seemed so out of place.

Lu Zichuan sat down without changing his expression, and even smoothed the hem of his suit jacket to avoid getting it on the oily surface of the table.

The proprietress, a woman in her forties, with her apron stained with seasonings, walked over with a smile: "What would you like to eat?"

Shen Zhiyi had already started flipping through the menu on her own. It was a laminated cardboard sheet with various skewer names and prices written on it in marker.

She ordered quickly: "Twenty skewers of lamb, ten skewers of chicken wings, five skewers of corn, and one serving of stir-fried instant noodles, extra spicy!"

She turned to look at Lu Zichuan, her eyes sparkling: "What are you eating?"

Lu Zichuan stared at the greasy menu, remained silent for three seconds, and slowly said, "...Lamb skewers, five skewers, please."

Shen Zhiyi chuckled: "Just five skewers? Are you sure?"

"That's enough." He said without changing his expression.

"Two more bottles of beer, please!" Shen Zhiyi shouted to the proprietress.

"Okay!"

The proprietress responded and turned to get busy.

Shen Zhiyi lay on the table, her chin resting on the back of her hand, smiling as she looked at Lu Zichuan.

The dim light from the streetlamp shone on his face, making his features appear even more deep and defined.

Even sitting in such a place, his innate nobility couldn't be suppressed; instead, it created a strange sense of incongruity, like a Persian cat suddenly wandering into a traditional Chinese ink painting.

"What are you looking at?" Lu Zichuan felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze and reached up to touch his face.

"Because you're good-looking," Shen Zhiyi said with a grin, her tone carrying a rare lightness and composure.

Lu Zichuan's ears burned slightly. He looked away, picked up the teapot on the table that had been used by countless people, poured himself a cup, and then put it down without drinking it.

Shen Zhiyi laughed even harder.

The beer arrived first, and the proprietress opened the bottle with a loud bang.

Shen Zhiyi took the bottle, tilted her head back and took a big gulp, her Adam's apple bobbing and white foam still hanging from the corners of her mouth.

"Drink slowly." Lu Zichuan frowned and pulled two tissues from the table, handing them to her.

Shen Zhiyi took the tissue and wiped her mouth, then took another sip, and then exhaled a long breath, as if she was expelling all the stale air that had been accumulating in her chest for a long time.