When Chen Yan loved me the most, I broke up with him. It was an accident when we met again. He hit me while riding a shared bicycle with his Porsche. I looked at the holes in my pants at my knees and tightened the critical illness notice in my hand. When Chen Yan got out of the car, an assistant-looking person followed closely behind him and opened a big umbrella to protect him from the sun. In this hot June, his face was clear and I was sweating profusely. He wears suits and leather shoes, and has stern eyebrows. He looks like the arrogance of an upstart business man. He is no longer the gentle and wanton Chen Yan a year ago.
