Xiu Xi gently squeezed her small hand, as if silently comforting her.
"Jiaojiao, are you feeling unwell? Is your hand still hurting? Let Uncle take another look."
Ruan Jiaojiao's face did not look good at all. Shu Lang, feeling uneasy, bent down and placed her small hand on the table. His eyes lingered on the pale pink scar.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
Ruan Jiaojiao shook her head, attempting to force a smile. But her emotional fortitude wasn't strong enough yet. Even if she smiled, it seemed very forced.
"Jiaojiao, what happened to your hand?" Seeing the scar on Ruan Jiaojiao's palm, Qian Qian gasped sharply. Such a long scar—even a quick glance gave her a vivid sense of how severe the injury must have been.
"Should we go to the hospital to check it out?" she suggested.
"No need, it doesn't hurt. Uncle, it's really okay." Ruan Jiaojiao pulled back her small hand, picked up the newly served glass of milk, and took a sip, barely suppressing the trepidation in her heart.