The wind lifted Lana Fern's hair, and she didn't seem to feel cold at all; in fact, she became more spirited as she spoke.
Every word, Jasmine Yale listened to.
The wind blew on her face, and her consciousness gradually became clear again.
Jasmine Yale looked at her, with a gentle upward curve at the corner of her lips: "Whether Mr. Cheney loves me or not, you should ask Mr. Cheney. All I can tell you is that I've known him for eighteen years. When I want shrimp, he'll peel it for me; when I eat fish, he'll meticulously remove all the bones; when dining, he'll serve me soup. After I've washed my hair, no matter how busy he is, he'll set aside his work to blow dry it for me; in the winter, when I'm cold, he'll hold me throughout the night..."
As Jasmine Yale spoke, her voice choked up.
She remembered the kindness Sylvan Cheney showed her.
Although he can be an asshole sometimes, his kindness is enough to offset that, and she doesn't hold grudges for those times.
