The person who sent the message—he knew who it was.
The "she" mentioned in the text—it's obvious who that refers to.
Lu Jingxing stared at it, his eyes felt dry, and his thoughts wandered.
Until the egg in the frying pan had been left too long and began to emit a burnt smell.
Lu Yuzhe, who had finished handing off his phone and was continuing to pack his bag, smelled the burnt odor and dashed back to the kitchen like a little whirlwind.
He turned off the flame.
Taking the pan from Lu Jingxing's hand, he skillfully tipped the charred egg into the trash before rinsing the pan.
His movements were practiced.
Once he cleaned the pan, he put it back on the stove, slightly raised his head to look at Lu Jingxing. "Dad, what's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
Lu Jingxing gazed at his increasingly self-sufficient son, feeling both comforted and pained.
They had a maid at home who could prepare breakfast, but ever since Little Zhe clung to him one night and said, "Dad, you still have me."