First, then, love.

The wind blowing in from the corridor dispersed the warmth from the room.

The stench of blood, a mixture of gunpowder, mud, and rust, rushed straight into her nostrils.

Shu Yao's gaze slowly moved down along his arm, which was held horizontally in mid-air.

The black combat uniform was covered in grayish-white dust.

On the lower left shoulder, the fabric was torn and rolled up by a sharp object.

The opening was not covered by clothing, revealing layers of wrapped white medical gauze.

The gauze was wrapped haphazardly, a crude field first aid technique that only aimed to stop the bleeding, regardless of whether the patient was alive or dead.

The outermost layer of gauze, stained with dried blood, turned a dark, rusty red.

The area is vast and shocking.

Shu Yao's breathing stopped instantly.

It felt like her heart was being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand, twisted hard, and the pain made her gasp.

Her eyes instantly welled up with tears.

The tears that had been welling up in her eyes due to shock and elation could no longer be held back, and now they swirled up in her eyes in large drops.

The images she'd seen on the news these past few days—the blood-stained stretchers, the hail of bullets—were all part of her experience.

At that moment, it all materialized into the glaring red spot on his arm.

He was injured, and he was actually bleeding.

Shu Yao bit her lower lip so hard that it turned completely bloodless.

She wanted to ask him if he was in pain, how deep his injuries were, and how he had managed to get through those three days and three nights.

However, the words stuck in my throat and I just couldn't bring myself to say them.

After the initial shock comes an uncontrollable lingering fear, which, when taken to its extreme, transforms into a stress-reactive self-defense mechanism.

She couldn't cry, and she couldn't show weakness in front of him.

She couldn't let him see that for the past four days and four nights, she had been sitting on the sofa like a madwoman, worrying about him and heartbroken for him.

At this moment, being spoiled became a protective shell.

"Who cares to touch you?"

Shu Yao sniffed sharply, forcing back the tears that were about to fall.

She raised her hand and roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

He raised his chin, reverting to his disdainful attitude.

"Look at you! You stink! Did you just crawl out of a garbage dump?"

She took two steps back, creating some distance.

He pointed to the floor in the entryway.

"Look at what you've stepped on, it's all yellow mud. I just had the cleaning lady clean the floor yesterday, and now it's all ruined."

There were indeed several clear mud marks left on the floor tiles, stretching from outside the door all the way to his feet.

He Zheng leaned against the door.

His chest heaved violently, and his breathing was heavy.

He did not refute it.

His dark eyes were bloodshot as he silently watched the irritated woman in front of him.

Looking at her red-rimmed eyes, her shoulders trembling slightly as she tried to hold back her emotions, and her bare feet on the paving stones.

He is too tired.

Three days and three nights of intense tension, with live ammunition exchanged.

He dealt with those desperados in the abandoned factory, watching bullets whiz past his comrades' scalps.

His nerves were stretched to their limit, on the verge of snapping.

On the way back, he kept himself awake by drinking strong tea, which prevented him from driving into the ditch.

All he wanted to do now was take a hot shower to wash away the smell of blood, and then close his eyes and go to sleep.

He didn't have the energy to cooperate with her performance, nor the energy to argue with her.

He Zheng withdrew his hand from mid-air, turned around, and closed the security door behind him.

"Click." The door lock snapped shut.

He casually placed the helmet he was holding on the entryway cabinet.

I bent down to change my shoes.

As soon as I bent down halfway, the wound on my left arm was aggravated.

"hiss."

He let out a barely audible gasp.

The movement paused for a moment.

Then, gritting his teeth, he used one hand to untie the laces of his military boots.

The shoelaces were covered in hardened mud, making them difficult to untie.

The God of War leaned closer, licked the back of his hand with his tongue, and made a whimpering sound.

"Stop fooling around." He Zheng patted the dog's head, took off his military boots, and threw them on the doormat.

Change into clean black sandals.

Shu Yao stood a few steps away, watching him struggle to change his shoes with one hand.

I saw his furrowed brow and faint gasps.

Her heart clenched again, and she dug her nails into her palms.

But the words that come out of his mouth are still as sharp as knives.

"Is your phone just for decoration?"

She stared at him, her voice rising involuntarily, trembling and questioning without her even realizing it.

"Turn off your phone and stay out of contact for three days and three nights. Is that fun?"

"You think you're out saving the world? Can't even afford a power bank? Is your SWAT team so poor you can't even afford a phone call to let everyone know you're safe?!"

She spoke faster and faster, like pouring out beans.

Only in this way could she conceal her near-collapse and suppress the bitterness caused by heartache.

Many people do.

They clearly wanted to show concern, but instead uttered harsh words.

"Do you know how the news reported it? They said someone was injured and was taken to the emergency room."

"How many WeChat messages did I send you? How many phone calls did I make? Are you blind? Can't you see?"

Shu Yao's eyes welled up with tears again, and she tried her best to keep them from falling.

He Zheng changed his shoes and stood up.

His tall figure cast a long, weary shadow under the light in the entryway.

He did not answer her barrage of questions.

There wasn't even a single explanation.

Cell phones must be handed in before a mission. How could you possibly bring personal communication devices to a live-fire arrest scene? These are ironclad rules.

But he didn't want to say it, because she wouldn't understand anyway.

He strode forward with long, heavy steps toward the living room.

He stopped as he passed by Shu Yao.

He looked down at her bare feet.

"Go put your shoes on, the ground is cold."

His voice was very hoarse, and he was very tired.

Shu Yao was stunned for a moment.

Her prepared anger and grand gesture were like punching cotton.

There was no rebound, no resistance.

This made her even more irritable and lost.

"I won't wear it!" she retorted stubbornly, like a sulking child. "Don't change the subject! Why didn't you answer your phone?"

He Zheng didn't look at her.

He raised his right hand, ran it through his messy short hair, and rubbed his temples vigorously.

My temples were throbbing, and it felt like a blender was spinning wildly inside my head; the pain was so intense it felt like my head was going to split open.

He took a deep breath, the strong smell of gunpowder hitting his head.

"Shu Yao, I don't have the energy to argue."

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, his eyes filled with a deathly stillness.

He didn't indulge her tantrums as usual, didn't scold her coldly, and didn't use force to pick her up and throw her back onto the bed.

He simply bypassed her.

He walked heavily toward the master bedroom.

He opened the closet and pulled out a clean black T-shirt and sweatpants with one hand.

He turned around and didn't look at the woman standing in the center of the living room again.

I grabbed a change of clothes and went straight into the bathroom.