The Duke was very quiet.
Gu Jiao wasn't sure to what extent his consciousness had recovered—whether he could only vaguely respond to external stimuli or he could clearly discern external sounds.
In plain terms, she didn't know if he understood what she was saying.
But Gu Jiao still treated him as a patient with complete self-awareness; she rolled up his sleeve, fully exposing the wound on his forearm.
"The wound isn't long or deep, no need for stitches. I'll clean it first, then apply some herbal ointment and that should do," she said.
As she spoke, Gu Jiao used a disposable iodophor stick to wipe the blood around the wound, then opened her homemade herbal ointment, dipped a bit on it, and evenly spread it over his wound.
Dusk settled, and slanted rays from the setting sun struck outside the house.
The Duke's breathing was very even; he didn't move an inch during the entire process of applying the medicine.