I'm a very lucky man.
The steel bars that splashed out during the explosion always rubbed against the scalp and were embedded in the wall. The collapsed containers at the dock were always pushed away by a brute force at the last second. Even the dead ends set up by the kidnappers could find life in the smoke and dust. In the past, I thought it was luck, until I saw the blood Shen Zhiyan coughed on the handkerchief, the wound on the back of his heart that was torn apart by energy, and the 24 records on his phone that perfectly coincided with the time of my distress.
It turns out that behind every "lucky" event, there is a trajectory that he forged using his ability to trace back time. This opponent who always called me "idiot" would drag his leg with torn ligaments and say, "I'm fine." He would throw wine all over me to deflect poison at banquets, and he would hide my lost lighter in the passenger seat for three years. When he finally said, "My ability can no longer be used," I realized that behind those tit-for-tat confrontations, there were 24 lives worth protecting.
Now I have learned to avoid danger on my own, and I dare to tell him: From the day he rushed into the equipment room with a baseball bat ten years ago, he has always been in my luck.
Intention: There will always be someone who loves you silently