For the first time in his life, Song Zhehan felt an overwhelming sense of regret.
Zhang Qiran sat on the bed, tears streaming uncontrollably from his swollen eyes. He choked out, “After I saw it... I got sick. That period of time is really hazy for me. I don’t even remember what happened after that…”
“Stop,” Song Zhehan’s heart clenched painfully, and he interrupted Zhang Qiran, trying to stop him from continuing.
But Zhang Qiran seemed unable to hear him. “I just remember waking up to find my mom there… She took me away. For a long time, I lived in a fog, day in and day out… Song Zhehan, I…”
Once the floodgates opened, no matter how much Song Zhehan tried to stop him, Zhang Qiran couldn’t hold back his urge to confess everything. Song Zhehan decided to listen in silence, not wanting to be a killjoy.
Zhang Qiran, with tearful eyes, looked at Song Zhehan. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to contact him—it was that, at the time, he simply couldn’t.
Witnessing his father’s suicide had devastated him. For a long time, Xiang Yang, as he was known before becoming Zhang Qiran, had even lost his ability to speak.
