My cousin-in-law helped me achieve my ambitions.

Su Ming barely hesitated. He squatted down, put one arm around Qiu Tong's back, and scooped up her legs with the other, lifting her up horizontally with a slight effort.

"Su Ming!" Qiu Tong exclaimed, "Your shoulder is injured..."

"It's alright!" Su Ming's voice was a little breathless, but steady. "Sister-in-law, just bear with it for a bit, I'll carry you back."

He took a deep breath, adjusted his carrying posture, and strode forward.

A night breeze blew in their faces, carrying the city's unique hustle and bustle and dust. Streetlights swept by one by one, casting long shadows of the two of them, which were quickly left behind.

Qiu Tong lay quietly in his arms.

She slightly raised her head, and from this angle, she could see Su Ming's profile.

He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowed, his gaze fixed intently on the road ahead. Sweat trickled down his forehead, gathering into a drop on his chin before finally falling. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving, but his arms remained steady, without the slightest tremor.

Qiu Tong suddenly remembered a Hong Kong movie she had watched many years ago when she was a young girl. In the movie, the male lead was carrying the female lead as they ran wildly through the night, pursued by enemies behind them and facing the unknown ahead. The female lead nestled in the male lead's arms, her eyes filled with dependence and trust.

At that time, she felt it was fake.

Now she knows, it's absolutely true.

Because at this moment, she was lying in a man's arms. His arms were strong and powerful, his chest warm and reliable, and his eyes firm and brave. She could even smell the faint scent of sweat and blood on his body—the blood he had shed to protect her.

Qiu Tong suddenly felt that her ankle didn't hurt as much anymore.

She gazed quietly at Su Ming's face, at his sharply defined jawline, at his slightly clenched teeth, and at the beads of sweat constantly sliding down his forehead.

His features are actually quite pleasing to the eye. He has thick eyebrows, large eyes, a high nose bridge, and deeper-set eyes than most people, making his features appear particularly profound. Usually, he always keeps his head down, his gaze darting around, looking somewhat timid. But at this moment, when he is focused on running, that naivety and timidity fade away, replaced by a sharpness and stubbornness unique to young people.

She then realized that her cousin, whom she had always treated like a child, was actually a man.

He is six years younger than her.

But the way he carried her and ran at that moment showed no trace of childishness.

Qiu Tong suddenly remembered Jiang Jian.

That man was powerful and influential; he could provide her with a life of luxury and smooth over all her troubles. But he would never carry her like this while running. He wouldn't even hold her hand to cross the street.

Their relationship was more like a transaction—each got what they needed and neither owed the other anything.

The man holding her at that moment had nothing.

But he used all the things he had—strength, courage, even his own flesh and blood—to protect her.

Qiu Tong's eyes suddenly felt a little sore.

She didn't know what was wrong with her. Perhaps she could have resolved the crisis just now; a single phone call would have been enough to contact the leader of the Hunan gang. If she had done that, those Hunan thugs wouldn't have dared to lay a finger on her, even if they had a hundred lives. But she didn't.

When Su Ming took her hand, she did not pull away.

She didn't tell him the truth when he carried her as they ran.

She chose to be protected by him.

Because that feeling... was just too good.

She was so touched that she didn't want to interrupt.

It was so good that she forgot her identity, forgot that she was a "mistress," and forgot that she worked in that kind of place.

At this moment, she was simply a woman being protected by a man.

That's it.

"Sister-in-law, hang in there a little longer." Su Ming's voice interrupted her thoughts. "We'll be there soon."

He was panting heavily, his steps faltering. Blood was still seeping from the wound on his shoulder, trickling down his arm and onto the ground. He had carried her for almost twenty minutes, running all the way from town to near the rented house.

Qiu Tong suddenly reached out and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Su Ming was stunned for a moment, then looked down at her.

Eyes facing each other.

The streetlight shone on Qiu Tong's face, her eyes were gentle, gentler than usual. A faint smile played on her lips, her brows and eyes were relaxed, showing no sign of the pain from her sprained ankle.

"Does it not hurt anymore?" Su Ming asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Mmm," Qiu Tong responded softly, "It doesn't hurt anymore."

She didn't say it was because she was looking at you that the pain stopped.

Su Ming didn't ask any more questions and continued carrying her forward. Finally, the familiar apartment building came into view.

"We've arrived." He breathed a sigh of relief.

As they went upstairs, he continued to hold her. Seven floors, over a hundred steps, he didn't stop for a single step. Qiu Tong wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the rise and fall of his body with each step he took.

She suddenly thought, "If only this road could be a little longer."

If only time could stop at this moment.

Finally, they entered the house. Su Ming carefully placed Qiu Tong on the sofa before plopping down on the floor, panting heavily. He looked down at his shoulder—his shirt had a long gash, thankfully not deep, just a superficial wound; the blood had already congealed, forming a dark scab around the wound.

"How badly are you injured?" Qiu Tong tried to sit up, supporting herself on the sofa.

"It's nothing, just a superficial injury." Su Ming shook his head. "Sister-in-law, don't move, you've sprained your ankle."

He got up and went to the bathroom, wrung out a wet towel, squatted down by the sofa, and gently lifted Qiu Tong's ankle.

Her ankle was swollen and red.

Su Ming frowned and applied a cold towel to her. He moved very gently, as if afraid of hurting her.

Looking at his downcast eyes and focused expression, Qiu Tong suddenly asked, "Su Ming, were you scared just now?"

Su Ming thought for a moment, then nodded honestly: "I'm scared."

"Are you afraid they'll still rush in?"

"We have to charge in, even if we're scared," Su Ming said matter-of-factly. "We can't let them chop you up."

Qiu Tong didn't say anything.

She looked at him, at the sweat still damp on his forehead, at the gruesome wound on his shoulder, and at his blood-stained hand gently supporting her feet.

This man is not Jiang Jian.

He wasn't even a man—in her eyes, he was just a child.

But this child shielded her with his body, took a knife for her with his flesh and blood, carried her for twenty minutes, and climbed up to the seventh floor in one breath.

And this child was helping his parents farm in his hometown just last week.

Qiu Tong suddenly smiled.

"What are you laughing at?" Su Ming looked up, somewhat bewildered.

"It's nothing." Qiu Tong looked away, leaned back on the sofa, and closed her eyes. "It's just that... you've grown up."

Her voice was very soft, as if she were talking to herself.

Su Ming paused for a moment, then lowered his head and continued to apply the compress to her feet.

Outside the window, the night was deep. The neon lights in the distance still flickered, and the "Golden Years" sign shone brightly in the night sky.

But at this moment, in this small rented room, there are only two people, a lamp, and something indescribable and quietly growing.

They didn't know what it was.