The words cut off, dissolving into a sigh.
By now, Fang Yuan had already shaken off the discomfort of moments ago.
She had assumed Jiang Cheng would simply turn and leave; she never expected such gentle words.
Within that gentleness she felt a surge of overwhelming joy.
She had never imagined Jiang Cheng had been quietly watching her for so long.
So… what he'd just said wasn't true?
If he truly felt nothing for her, why observe her in silence?
Fang Yuan wanted to speak, yet feared the answer might shatter everything.
She had to admit her own reactions to his subtle teasing had never been pure rejection.
The racing heart whenever he drew close, the warmth at every considerate gesture—all of it was real.
So she wasn't the only one struggling; Jiang Cheng was fighting too?
Each look, each hesitation—had he been holding something back?
Women, she thought, can be masochistic, even self-deceptive.
Had he said this from the start, she might still have fluttered—though doubt would have tempered the thrill.
But now the words came after he had already hurt her.
In sorrow, such an explanation could make any woman's heart tremble.
In that state, the mind magnifies the other's feelings, soothing its own wounds.
Sure enough, after his confession her favorability value jumped five points.
Fang Yuan: favorability value +5!
Seeing the system prompt, Jiang Cheng smiled.
Eighty-nine points—not bad at all.
He fixed his gaze on her back, walked over with a grin,
ready to deliver the final blow,
to let her taste the ache of loving in vain.
He was certain that after these words Fang Yuan would be swamped with regret.
She felt the mattress dip as he sat again.
She wanted to turn, but dared not.
Soon the mattress shifted once more.
Seconds later Jiang Cheng straightened up abruptly.
"Forget it."
Footsteps headed for the door; she almost opened her eyes.
As the lock clicked she caught his murmured parting:
"If only we'd met ten years earlier."
The door shut softly.
Fang Yuan's fingers clenched the sheet, knuckles white.
Staring at the shifting light on the ceiling, she felt a stone on her chest—each breath a struggle.
Those two words, "ten years," cut like a dull blade through every pretense.
In an instant the distance between their hearts vanished.
So it wasn't her imagination—Jiang Cheng felt the regret too.
Ten years ago he would have been… eight?
No—he was saying: if Zhou Ying hadn't existed.
Her fingers tightened convulsively; panic flooded her.
Shock mingled with thick guilt.
Though never a direct confession, his meaning was clear—she had become the thorn in his heart.
She had become the wrecker of her own daughter's love.
"What am I doing…?" She buried her face in her hands.
Yet amid the torrent of guilt a more terrifying thought sprouted.
If Zhou Ying didn't exist—if she and Jiang Cheng… The idea sliced through her self-deceit.
Fang Yuan jerked upright, seized the bedside glass and drained it.
The cold water slid down her throat, unable to douse the blaze within.
She pressed her ear to the door until the sound of the outer gate closing drifted in.
Only then did she walk to the window.
Outside, the rain quickened.
Barefoot, she stepped to the glass and saw Zhou Ying's own face reflected back.
Jiang Cheng's words set her mind racing.
What if one day he left Zhou Ying for her?
No—impossible.
She would never hurt Zhou Ying.
She had to protect her daughter—but how?
A wild, absurd notion flashed through her mind.
Could three of them… work?
It could. She loved Zhou Ying; Zhou Ying loved Jiang Cheng.
Surely the three of them would never clash.
She remembered the rich young men who had video-called Jiang Cheng earlier.
He was still so young.
With his wealth, women would flock to him.
Her daughter was too innocent, too trusting.
Without someone watching, could Zhou Ying outmatch the rest?