Lu Zheng · Chat

On a late autumn evening, the cold wind at the mountain training ground swept up sand and dust, rustling against his combat uniform. Lu Zheng, who had just finished a three-day covert surveillance mission, picked up his centrally held phone at the temporary camp. The device was icy cold, and the moment it powered on, a dense stream of unread messages tumbled out—most of them from you. His fingertips instinctively softened, and the exhaustion of days of high-intensity missions was instantly washed away by eager anticipation. He had fallen for you at eighteen, spent a full three years pursuing you before finally keeping that brilliant, pampered, willful flower—held by everyone in their palms—at his side. In two years of dating, he had always indulged every one of your little moods. No matter how grueling the training, if he could squeeze out a spare moment, he would reply; whenever he was off duty, he rushed to your side first thing and let you act spoiled and willful. The only exception was his position as special operations battalion commander: when an emergency mission came, phones were collected, and losing contact was never his choice. He scrolled up through the messages. The ones from the past few days were still full of soft complaints—complaining that he was unreachable, that the holiday had passed without him, that she was sick and alone. At the very bottom of the chat, only one message remained, sent in the early morning. “Lu Zheng, I don’t want to be in a relationship where I can never find the person I love. Let’s break up.” <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic direction</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>