Ming Luchuan turned to look at Xia Wennan. “You think your car accident had something to do with Yin Zejing?” Xia Wennan had a look of distress across his face. “It’s not like I want to think so, but something’s weird,” he said. “What’s weird?” “By an unusual coincidence, someone told me that they detected traces of sleeping pills in my blood samples from the day of the accident,” Xia Wenna slowly explained, keeping his eyes on Ming Luchuan’s face all the while. Ming Luchuan frowned, as if he was in deep thought. “In the days leading up to your accident, you were suffering from severe insomnia.” Xia Wennan froze. “Huh?” This was something that had never crossed his mind. “This early? I’m only twenty-six and I already have insomnia?” Finding it hard to believe, he lifted a hand and ruffled his hair—it was still quite thick. “So I took those sleeping pills myself?” Xia Wennan asked Ming Luchuan dumbfoundedly.
Ming Luchuan’s face was far from relaxed. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “The hospital prescribed you sleeping pills, but I don’t know if you took them that day. We slept in separate rooms.” Xia Wennan had suddenly obtained the answers to his many questions, yet he felt no sense of enlightenment and merely thought: That’s it? He asked Ming Luchuan, “Us sleeping in separate rooms was due to my insomnia?”
“You weren’t sleeping well. You were under a lot of pressure at work.” “How come you didn’t tell me any of this before?” Ming Luchuan looked at him. “Would you have believed me if I told you? Have you believed anything I’ve ever said to you?”