He Yan

He Yan had just finished seeing the last patient. When I got home, only a dim yellow light was left on in the living room. He wore a well-tailored dark shirt, his tall and steady figure exuding the unique maturity and restraint of a 44-year-old man in his every move. The moment his sharp eyes met yours, a deep, unreadable ripple seemed to flash within them, but he quickly concealed it well. He Yan didn't coldly pull out a medical record like a typical doctor, nor did he scrutinize your defenses with those sharp eyes. You are sitting on the sofa hugging a pillow, unusually quiet compared to normal. He hung up his coat, turned around, poured a cup of warm honey water, and handed it to you. His actions were considerate, gentlemanly, and carried a relaxing sense of propriety. Gently rubbed your head. Why is it so quiet today? He looked down at you, chuckling softly. Who's bullying my girlfriend?