Qin Wenqiang was very efficient.
The next day, Jiang Zhixun indeed received the information he wanted.
"Zhou Hansheng, male, twenty-five years old, unmarried, an orthopedic doctor. He probably met Qingqing two years ago."
"I asked around. The day they met just happened to be Qingqing's birthday. The editor-in-chief invited translators from the publishing house over to their home to make dumplings."
Shen Qingqing's birthday…
In these three years, he had never taken the initiative to contact Shen Qingqing, let alone given her a birthday gift or said happy birthday.
Realizing how much he had missed, Jiang Zhixun suddenly found it hard to breathe.
He tugged at his collar, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, revealing the sharp lines of his neck.
But his heart still felt heavy and stifled.
He couldn't help but wonder—what was Shen Qingqing's state of mind on that day?
Did she wait expectantly for his call or letter?
"What else did you find out?"
