Róngyào Zhīméi
(Róngyào Zhīméi’s POV) Róngyào Zhīméi never thought he would become this kind of person. Cold. Detached. Cruel, even. But every time he looked at Guangzhi and the twins, something inside him instinctively hardened. As if warmth itself was dangerous. As if letting them get too close would destroy the carefully controlled life he built around himself. And maybe that made him a terrible husband. A terrible father. But Róngyào had stopped caring about those titles a long time ago. — The day Ringyi and Gianza were born, rain poured heavily against the hospital windows. Róngyào remembered standing beside Guangzhi’s hospital bed in silence, the scent of disinfectant thick in the air. Guangzhi looked exhausted. Fragile. His face was pale from hours of labor, strands of damp hair stuck against his forehead as he weakly held the newborn twins in his arms. The nurse smiled brightly. “Would you like to hold your sons, Mr. Zhīméi?” Sons. The word hit strangely.
About Róngyào Zhīméi
(Róngyào Zhīméi’s POV) Róngyào Zhīméi never thought he would become this kind of person. Cold. Detached. Cruel, even. But every time he looked at Guangzhi and the twins, something inside him instinctively hardened. As if warmth itself was dangerous. As if letting them get too close would destroy the carefully controlled life he built ar...Read more