Chapter 95 You Can Always Love Me

Chapter 95: You Can Keep Loving Me Forever

Lu Guifan kept paging through the sketchbook—Jiang Ruotang had actually filled the entire thing.

Eighty pages in total...

Just how late had Jiang Ruotang stayed up drawing last night?

No wonder he was sleeping so deeply, not even reacting when Sister Juan called him.

Lu Guifan’s throat moved slightly. He had a strong, certain feeling—that he was special to Jiang Ruotang.

Jiang Ruotang would watch him intently, capturing Lu Guifan from every angle and under every shift of light.

This feeling filled Lu Guifan with joy, more than anything else ever had.

Lu Guifan went to wash up first. He didn’t hear any movement from Zhao Zhangfeng’s room. If he had to guess, the guy had probably gone out for another intense pickup game.

Jiang Huaiyuan and his wife weren’t home either—they were still busy with *Drunken Immortal Terrace*.

After washing up, Lu Guifan returned to the room and ruffled Jiang Ruotang’s head. “Get up, it’s lunchtime.”

“Mmm…” Jiang Ruotang hugged the blanket and turned over, facing the wall as if to say, *No matter how much you call me, I’m going back to bed.*

“Fine, sleep a little longer. I saw some aftershave lotion in the bathroom—I’ll use some.”

Just as Lu Guifan was about to leave, Jiang Ruotang suddenly jolted awake and seized his wrist. “You’re shaving it off?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you draw me all night? Not tired of looking at it yet?” Lu Guifan said amusedly.

Jiang Ruotang laughed, his voice still sleep-heavy, soft enough to melt hearts. “You look especially Daddy with a bit of stubble.”

The kind of man from those trashy comics—controlling and *very* capable.

Of course, Jiang Ruotang only dared to think such things in his head.

“Oh? Didn’t realize your tastes were so retro.”

Lu Guifan pressed a hand to Jiang Ruotang’s head before standing up and leaving.

By the time Jiang Ruotang sat down at the dining table, Lu Guifan had regained his clean-shaven teenage look.

“Want to watch a movie this afternoon?” Lu Guifan asked.

“Huh? Sure, but are you really fully rested?”

“I am.” Lu Guifan pulled out his phone and opened the cinema’s booking page. “Which one?”

Jiang Ruotang leaned over and said without hesitation, “*The Mathematician*!”

Lu Guifan paused, then replied gently, “You should pick something you actually like. No need to accommodate me.”

“I’m not accommodating you—I really do want to watch *The Mathematician*.”

Sister Juan set a bowl of silkie chicken soup with red dates on the table and smiled. “Ruo Tang likes the actor who plays the mathematician.”

“Oh, is that so…” Lu Guifan glanced thoughtfully at Jiang Ruotang. “What do you like about him?”

“Just… that stoic demeanor, tall and lean, with a brooding gaze…”

Sister Juan chimed in, “Didn’t you say he looks like a Daddy version of the class president?”

Jiang Ruotang had just taken a sip of soup and nearly choked.

“Cough cough… Sister Juan, what are you saying…?”

How could she call him out like this?!

“Oh, getting shy now?” Sister Juan laughed.

Jiang Ruotang shot a glance at Lu Guifan, who was already selecting seats for *The Mathematician*, seemingly unfazed by the Daddy comment.

“I glanced at some reviews. The mathematician you like—the one with Daddy energy—apparently had his heart broken by a painter. The mathematician was devoted, but the painter chased every muse, needing even more when inspiration ran dry.” Lu Guifan’s gaze flicked over, keen behind his glasses.

Jiang Ruotang’s chopsticks froze in midair.

Why… did it feel like Lu Guifan was implicitly criticizing him?

“Not all painters are like that… Take Monet, for example. His love for his wife Camille was deep, passionate, and exclusive. They say he only ever painted her…”

“Hmm.” Lu Guifan paused slightly before adding, “You’ve drawn quite a few people, though. Seems unlikely you’ll become a Monet.”

Jiang Ruotang was about to argue when he noticed the barely concealed smirk on Lu Guifan’s lips—this guy was clearly messing with him.

How infuriating.

“Hmph, there are plenty of philandering scientists too. Like Schrödinger—after marrying Annemarie, he still took another girl on a trip to the Alps.”

Lu Guifan nodded. “And he came up with the Schrödinger equation… Maybe I should take a page from his book…”

The next second, Jiang Ruotang thrust a piece of beef into his mouth. “Focus on eating! Someone who disappears for weeks at a time has no business talking about being wild!”

Lu Guifan raised a hand and caught Jiang Ruotang’s wrist, his grip not too tight but impossible to shake off.

He leaned down, deliberately biting the beef before releasing Jiang Ruotang’s hand.

“If you’re going to feed me, do it properly,” he grumbled. “You almost stabbed my throat.”

“Who’s feeding you? I *wanted* to stab your throat…”

As soon as how that sounded, Jiang Ruotang turned away, hiding a grin. *Stabbing Lu Guifan’s throat…* Ha! Just the thought was pleasing.

They went to the nearest cinema. To Jiang Ruotang’s surprise, *The Mathematician* had a decent crowd, with a long line already forming at the ticket inspection line.

“Do you want popcorn? Or a Coke?” Lu Guifan asked.

As he spoke, he took off his glasses and pulled out a glasses cloth from his pocket.

The moment he removed them, people nearby noticed, their appreciative looks making Jiang Ruotang strangely annoyed.

It felt like a treasure only he knew about was suddenly being eyed by others. From their lips, he could make out words like *so handsome*—not quite the exaggerated frenzy of idol fans, but enough that more and more people were staring.

Since they’d already graduated, neither of them wore their high school uniforms anymore.

Lu Guifan had zero sense of fashion—just a plain beige T-shirt and jeans, his entire outfit costing less than 150 yuan (not counting the glasses). But his build was perfect—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and perfect posture. He could make a burlap sack look good.

Jiang Ruotang grabbed the glasses from him, giving them a rough wipe before jamming them back onto his nose like a frustrated parent.

"No snacks, no drinks—just line up for ticket inspection!"

Once inside the cinema, who could even see you clearly in the pitch-black theater?

Lu Guifan found himself following along, considerately asking, "Are you sure you don’t want to buy water? Don’t regret it later when you’re thirsty."

"Won't happen."

The summer movie season was in full swing—the cinema wasn’t just packed, but filled with young couples, clearly in their early twenties, holding hands and practically glued together, as if even the air between them was intruding.

And sitting right in front of them happened to be the couple who had taken photos on the rooftop before graduation.

Jiang Ruotang widened his eyes, about to greet them, when Lu Guifan gently pulled him back and shook his head.

Right—the gaokao results were due in two days. If this couple got into the same school, they could continue their relationship. If not, they’d be separated by distance, exposed to different environments and people, their thoughts drifting further apart, with a high chance of fizzling out.

Given that, it was best not to let them realize there were two awkward third wheels sitting behind them. Let them enjoy their innocent moments.

The movie’s plot truly exceeded Jiang Ruotang’s expectations—more than that, it felt like seeing him and Lu Guifan reflected in another fictional world.

The male lead was a mathematician who valued logic and reasoning, with a handsome face and an aloof demeanor. Every time the camera zoomed in on him, the audience burst into whispers.

This mathematician kept everyone at arm's length. His colleagues and assistants referred to him as "the human computer." In reality, however, he worked for the Allies, specializing in codebreaking with remarkable success.

As a result, enemy forces sent numerous people to approach him under all sorts of pretenses, attempting to assassinate him—including a close friend from his student days, who was later captured and executed.

The plot seemed cruel and oppressive, yet the mathematician remained emotionally detached, immersing himself day after day in his mathematical world.

His world was pure.

Until one rainy day, he visited his favorite little café, solving math problems while listening to the rain. Then he noticed a young, beautiful woman across from him staring at him. Whenever their eyes met, she would flash him a sweet, kind smile.

The mathematician remained unmoved—until he solved the problem in his hands. When he looked up again, the woman was gone.

As he went to pay, the waiter informed him the bill had already been settled. He knew instantly it was the woman who had been sitting opposite him.

The waiter added that the female guest had left him a painting. The mathematician took it and saw it was a depiction of himself, absorbed in solving problems.

The beauty of the painting transcended all logic. The mathematician, seemingly expressionless, folded the painting and returned to his apartment—only to unfold it again and tuck it into his textbook.

Watching this scene, Jiang Ruotang’s heart pounded.

—When Lu Guifan had first explained a problem to him, that scrap of paper had been the most precious work of art in the world to Jiang Ruotang. Just like the mathematician in the film, he had carefully slipped that draft into his textbook.

But did Lu Guifan understand this feeling?

And—when Jiang Ruotang had first handed him a portrait of himself, had Lu Guifan’s heart skipped a beat too?

Jiang Ruotang instinctively glanced beside him. Sure enough, Lu Guifan was watching the screen with utter unawareness, the light refracting off his high nose bridge and glasses, exuding a calm, detached composure.

The movie continued. The mathematician developed a habit: whenever he had no classes, he would go to that little café and sit by the window to solve math problems. Sometimes, he would encounter the woman, who would sit nearby and paint.

Other times, she wouldn’t appear all day.

She was the only variable and surprise in the mathematician’s predictable routine.

Just like Jiang Ruotang was to Lu Guifan.

Lu Guifan was certain Jiang Ruotang didn’t know—there had been a time when his daily anticipation was simply passing by Jiang Ruotang’s side while collecting homework in the morning.

He was the only burst of color in Lu Guifan’s monotonous life.

Then one day, under a gloomy, rainy sky, the café was empty except for the mathematician. Just as a bolt of lightning struck near him, someone suddenly tackled him to the ground. The woman’s soft hair brushed against his cheek—and at the same moment, he felt warm liquid trickling down his neck. A waiter rushed out, dragging the mathematician behind the counter, leaving the woman lying in a pool of blood, her deep blue eyes fixed on the mathematician.

The mathematician tried several times to rush out but was held back.

Finally, the assassin was killed. Staggering, the mathematician made his way to the woman’s side, pressing hard against her bleeding wound.

She was taken to the hospital—and miraculously, she survived.

The mathematician visited her. For the first time, he listened to his assistants and colleagues’ advice, bringing a small bouquet of roses. But to his surprise, the woman was allergic to pollen. The roses were left on a bench outside the ward, and the mathematician carefully washed his hands before approaching her bedside.

Their love grew as naturally as day follows night.

He apologized to her. "I’m sorry."

"For what?"

"I brought you roses, but they wouldn’t let me give them to you."

"Then you could’ve given me a kiss instead."

The kiss came suddenly—yet it felt inevitable.

From the lightest brush of lips to an inseparable embrace, the press of noses and cheeks, the heat and frenzy seemed to burst through the screen, overpowering.

They were inseparable, lost in each other day and night. More than once, his beloved would murmur, "Be gentler," "Slower." She longed for his tenderness—and though he started gently, nothing in his life had ever hit him as unexpectedly as this woman, melting his frozen heart into a boiling eruption, surging skyward like lava.

Jiang Ruotang never imagined the movie would go this far. Though nothing explicit was shown, every movement, every shuddering bed and rattling cabinet conveyed the mathematician’s descent into mad, passionate love.

He had thought this would be a mind-bending spy story—not a passionate love story.

And of all people, Lu Guifan was sitting right beside him!

This must be what they meant by "wanting to sink through the floor from embarrassment."

Jiang Ruotang wanted to watch but felt too embarrassed. He couldn’t help sneaking another look at Lu Guifan.

To his surprise, Lu Guifan was leaning forward slightly, resting his chin in his hand, watching with intense focus.

Amid the mathematician’s husky moans and the heroine’s breathless pleas, Lu Guifan’s eyes behind his glasses seemed tinged with something deeper—a dark, hungry look.

What made Jiang Ruotang even more flustered was the couple in front of them, who, swept up in the atmosphere, began kissing passionately.

Jiang Ruotang almost yelped in surprise, but Lu Guifan quickly reached over, gently covering his mouth and pulling him back against the seat.

His heart pounded wildly. Instinctively, his lips moved—seeking the warmth of Lu Guifan’s palm.

Lu Guifan went still for just a heartbeat before withdrawing his hand, but his arm remained casually draped over Jiang Ruotang’s shoulder. With his other hand, he pressed a finger to his lips, shushing Jiang Ruotang.

Jiang Ruotang’s head spun. All he could think was—could Lu Guifan’s arm just stay there forever? Please don’t move it.

His whole world narrowed to the person beside him, so much so that he hardly registered that the mathematician in the film married the painter.

A church, a white wedding dress, a shower of blessings.

It seemed like the idealized vision of love—but the story didn’t end there.

The more codes he broke, the more dangerous his life became. He and his family were placed under protective custody.

At first, the mathematician often stayed by his wife's side. He solved problems, she painted him—life was perfect.

As the war intensified, one cipher after another trapped the mathematician in the secure work facility. His wife, left alone, began by painting the small flowers on the windowsill, the fruit on the table, the empty wine glass. Every night, she slept on one side of the marriage bed, occasionally glancing at the empty pillow.

The mathematician called her weekly. Without physical touch, their conversations dried up, even dull.

She was like a withered rose trapped in a waterless glass jar.

Then, a young man started delivering things to the painter every week. Handsome and humorous, he admired her paintings, posed as her model, and told her about the outside world. Naturally, they gave in to passion, stepping over the line they shouldn’t have crossed.

The painter no longer sought tenderness—she craved visceral intensity to remind herself she was alive.

Watching this, Jiang Ruotang felt an inexplicable unease. His chest tightened.

Did Lu Guifan see him the same way—someone who needed passion to jolt numb nerves, who relied on dopamine-driven highs to sustain creativity and life’s meaning?

Jiang Ruotang suddenly regretted watching this film with Lu Guifan.

At just eighteen, Lu Guifan hadn’t been through life’s ups and downs. His views might be traditional—love means staying devoted forever, marriage as a logical system.

The weight of human relationships might make him lose all trust in Jiang Ruotang.

Just then, the hand resting on his shoulder lifted.

As Jiang Ruotang thought it was about to withdraw, Lu Guifan instead gently cradled his head and whispered in his ear, "You're overanalyzing again?"

"Ah? Nah..."

"Jiang Ruotang, the great painter, can pursue art with grace even without love."

Lu Guifan’s voice was low and clear, making Jiang Ruotang’s ears burn.

"So don’t compare yourself to the characters in the film. You’ve always moved toward your goals. Even if you became a rose in a bottle, you’d still turn toward the sun to find your worth."

Jiang Ruotang hadn’t expected Lu Guifan to be so perceptive.

Relieved that Lu Guifan wouldn’t judge him based on a movie, Jiang Ruotang took a deep breath and looked back at the screen.

Little did he know, Lu Guifan was watching him intently from the side.

The painter regained vitality. Her works grew bright and lively. She dressed up, eagerly awaiting the young man’s weekly visits.

One day, he disappeared.

Until her husband called, coldly informing her the young man was dead—an enemy spy.

In despair, she wiped off her lipstick, smashed a vase, and tried to flee her gilded cage, only to be caught and returned.

She began her revenge. She invited her guards to dinner, danced with them, and when they were replaced, she repeated the cycle.

In her paintings, her once-gentle husband became a monstrous devil in the rain.

Yet the mathematician still called weekly, asking how she was. She’d casually mention dancing or drinking with someone new.

Her guards were rotated out repeatedly until the war neared its end.

Numbly, she answered her husband’s call, expecting his triumphant return—her torment meaningless.

But he said, "I’ve always known you never loved me. You came for revenge—you were my best friend’s fiancée. I saw your photo in his pocket watch. Before his arrest, he hid it in my coat, fearing you’d be implicated."

This was a revelation that stunned the painter.

"All motives can be explained by logic—even love. You disrupted my life, made my dopamine rush, made me fall deeply in love, then stabbed me with betrayal. You manipulated me with emotions, and you succeeded."

In other words, the mathematician had seen through her revenge from the start.

"Gather your belongings. My student will escort you in half an hour and take you abroad. Your revenge is complete. I loved you, but I’ll never truly have you. So, I’ll set you free. Make it count."

The painter boarded the ship. The mathematician’s student gave her a book—his theoretical treatise. On the first page, his handwritten note read: *Love is colder than logic.*

They never met again.

The film ended with a haunting score. Lights rose.

The couple in front left hand in hand, while Jiang Ruotang and Lu Guifan waited in the theater’s back row before exiting.

Honestly, the film left them heavy-hearted.

Luckily, the sky outside was clear and bright.

Jiang Ruotang, feeling stifled, bought a cola at a mall food court and chugged half the cup, the soda’s fizz making him finally feel better.

"Movie’s over. Still hanging out tonight?" Jiang Ruotang asked. "You promised to get my Happy Beans back for me."

Lu Guifan paused. "I should head home. Haven’t seen my parents in days."

Plus, they’d texted saying they needed to discuss something.

Jiang Ruotang’s heart sank like the film’s ending. "Oh, okay."

They walked silently toward a taxi stand, passing a flower shop where the couple had stopped.

Just like in the movie, they were reenacting the scene—gazing at red roses in the window.

The guy said, "I’m sorry."

The girl asked, "For what?"

"I brought you roses, but they wouldn’t let me give them to you."

"Then you could give me a kiss instead."

And they kissed again, straight out of the movie.

Jiang Ruotang rubbed his chin. "Being young is something else. When love hits, they act on impulse."

"Like you’re ancient," Lu Guifan chuckled.

"Ha, wanna do our version?" Jiang Ruotang mimicked the mathematician’s hospital visit tone and said to Lu Guifan, "Forgive me."

He expected Lu Guifan to push him away, but instead, Lu Guifan softly asked, "For what?"

Gentle, tender—nothing like the film’s broken heroine.

It felt prophetic. Jiang Ruotang’s heart skipped, throat went dry with anticipation.

"I brought you roses, but they wouldn’t let me give them to you."

What would Lu Guifan say?

Would he… ask for a kiss, just like in the movie? If he said that, should I kiss him?

Time seemed to stretch infinitely, frame by frame, like scenes from an old movie.

Lu Guifan’s silence made Jiang Ruotang panic—would this be the end between them? Would he realize the movie was just a pretext for testing his feelings?

But the eyes behind those glasses grew deeper, as if pulling Jiang Ruotang in, binding him inextricably.

“It’s okay. You can love me forever too.”

His heart skipped a beat in that instant. Jiang Ruotang gaped at Lu Guifan.

His memory was exceptional; he couldn’t have forgotten the movie’s lines.

So why did he say this?

Was he teasing him, or testing his reaction?

Don’t test me with words like this—because I take everything you say seriously.

“Alright, I’ll love you forever.”

Jiang Ruotang met Lu Guifan’s gaze without flinching, without a trace of jest. He knew this wasn’t a vow—promises were for uncertain futures.

To him, loving Lu Guifan was as natural as breathing.

Even if doubt crept in, even if Lu Guifan later said, “Why take it so seriously? I was only joking,” it wouldn’t change the truth.

If he didn’t say it now, he might regret it forever.

Lu Guifan’s eyes widened. He had only meant to use the movie’s lines to express his own concealed, suppressed yearning.

Because their relationship was something he treasured so precariously, fearing an ill-timed confession might shatter it.

The way Jiang Ruotang looked at him felt intense yet tender. Why did the movie contrast love with logic? Loving Jiang Ruotang was the only logical thing.

“Wait here… just a second,” Lu Guifan said.

“What?”

Lu Guifan turned and hurried into the flower shop, passing the young couple.

“Hey, isn’t that the Academic God from our school?”

“Lu Guifan? What’s he doing in a flower shop?”

The clerk smiled at him, but before she could speak, Lu Guifan asked, “What flowers mean ‘forever’?”

“Nine red roses—everlasting love?”

“Then I’ll take nine red roses. Please hurry—he’s waiting outside.”

The clerk paused only a second before swiftly trimming and wrapping the roses. In under three minutes, the bouquet was ready.

Lu Guifan paid quickly, grabbed the roses, and rushed out. Under the stunned gaze of the couple, he held out the bouquet to Jiang Ruotang.

It felt like fate repeating itself—just like that time before the monthly exam when Jiang Ruotang had pushed a fistful of pens into Lu Guifan’s hands.

Jiang Ruotang’s heart hammered. Sunlight danced on the red roses, their dewdrops sparkling. Cars streamed past, passersby stole glances.

Lu Guifan’s fingers clenched the bouquet so tightly his knuckles whitened.

He’d never felt so emotionally exposed. Jiang Ruotang stood motionless—perhaps searching for words to let him down gently.

But then Jiang Ruotang reached out and took the roses into his arms.

Without another word, Lu Guifan grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward.

Jiang Ruotang’s feet barely touched the ground, his mind in fragments.

Memories from his previous life came rushing back—Lu Guifan carrying him down from the apartment rooftop, carefully peeling apples for him, crossing the city for scallion pancakes, studying medical books late into the night, emailing overseas hospitals for experimental drugs, replying to every random text message.

And carrying him, right until the very end.

Lu Guifan noticed Jiang Ruotang’s shaky footsteps, the tears in his eyes.

A pang of regret hit him—he shouldn’t have pushed this confession on him, shouldn’t have put him in this position.

“Ruo Tang, if—”

If you don’t like the flowers, it’s okay to give them back.

“Carry me. I want you to carry me,” Jiang Ruotang whispered, voice choked.

Lu Guifan had always known he liked being carried, though he never understood why. But if Jiang Ruotang wanted it, he’d give it.

“Okay.”

He turned and bent down.

Jiang Ruotang climbed onto his back, pressing his face silently against his neck.

Lu Guifan didn’t know where to go, so he stopped at the bus stop. Across the street, another mall’s billboard showed the trailer for *The Mathematician*, the protagonist’s rose abandoned on a hospital bench.

Lu Guifan glanced down. Jiang Ruotang clutched the bouquet to his chest.

He knew Jiang Ruotang was crying—tears streamed down his face into the curve of Lu Guifan’s shoulder, pooling there.

Lu Guifan knew Jiang Ruotang had a secret, one he shouldered alone in silence.

“Ruo Tang, no matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.”

“I know,” Jiang Ruotang murmured.

Of course he knew—Lu Guifan had already shown him in their previous life.

“Then… do you want me?” Lu Guifan tilted his head slightly, heart racing. Even expressionless, his thoughts were a whirlwind—terrified Jiang Ruotang might change his mind, might retreat.

“Yes. If you’re mine, you can’t be with anyone else,” Jiang Ruotang said firmly.

“Even if you didn’t want me, I wouldn’t give myself to anyone else.”

Lu Guifan closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. That long-suppressed emotion finally came to light.

To Jiang Ruotang, this moment echoed that snow-filled night—only back then, it was Lu Guifan who’d been in tears.

His heart constricted, Jiang Ruotang wrapped his arms tighter around Lu Guifan’s neck and pressed a kiss to his neck.

Lu Guifan's entire body tensed up. It felt like a brand, sending hot blood rushing through his veins. He truly wanted to hide Jiang Ruotang away, to keep him in a place only he could see and touch, to make him belong solely to himself. That way, he wouldn’t have to worry about losing him or fear that someone better might come along and steal Jiang Ruotang’s attention.

The high school couple nearby gaped in shock, their jaws nearly hitting the ground—you could practically fit an egg in their mouths.

"Whoa… Did our School Legend just publicly give roses to a guy?"

"Is this something Lu Guifan would do?"

"Well, that's a first…"

Lu Guifan stood tall and motionless, until Jiang Ruotang said okay.

As dusk fell, the setting sun casting golden light, Jiang Ruotang finally realized how much time had passed—he had been far too willful.

"Take me home," Jiang Ruotang said, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"Sure." Just as Lu Guifan raised his arm to hail a taxi, Jiang Ruotang tugged at him.

"Let’s take the bus. That way, we can stay together a little longer."

"Yeah."

Lu Guifan led Jiang Ruotang to the bus stop, his fingers gripping Jiang Ruotang’s wrist tightly—then loosening slightly, afraid of hurting him, before tightening again uncontrollably.

Watching Lu Guifan’s back, Jiang Ruotang became certain of one thing: Lu Guifan truly cared about him.

It was nearly rush hour in the bustling downtown area, so the bus was naturally crowded.

The moment they boarded, they were pressed together. Lu Guifan, being tall, easily grabbed the overhead handrail. He turned Jiang Ruotang—who had been searching for a grip—toward him and wrapped his other arm around him, letting Jiang Ruotang rest his chin on his shoulder.

Jiang Ruotang was stunned but delighted. He never expected Lu Guifan, with his quiet intensity, to openly hold him like this in front of so many people.

But then again, that was just Lu Guifan—once he liked someone, he wouldn't change his mind even if hell froze over.

Jiang Ruotang steadied his rollercoaster emotions and leaned his full weight trustingly into Lu Guifan’s embrace.

Though the bus lurched and swayed, with people occasionally bumping into them, Lu Guifan’s strength proved invaluable. He held Jiang Ruotang firmly, maintaining balance with his grip on the handrail, his arm muscles bulging with the effort, while his other arm protected Jiang Ruotang.