Song Zhuozhi's delicate jade-like hand reached up to his shoulder, and she slowly leaned her head against his chest.
"Really? Do you really put me in the first place?"
Lu Jiu stood like a piece of wood, unmoving, his muscles tense.
"I'm filthy, afraid to offend Miss, I'll help Miss to the couch."
"No." She extended a finger to press down his attempt to rise, leaning on him mournfully, saying, "At least let me feel a bit of a living person's warmth."
"I lost my child, Lu Jiu." Her tone was sorrowful, tears continuously falling, dripping on the back of his hand, startling him almost to instinctively pull back.
Before he could think of a comforting word, she continued, "I saw my father off at fourteen, crying so much alone in the ancestral hall that I fainted and didn't see his remains. My grandmother didn't love me, my stepmother was unkind, only my brother was good to me in the family."
