Xing Ling was startled, "Did I just... touch your wound?" She couldn't even remember doing so.
But Ye Sihan's painful expression didn't seem fake; the veins on his forehead were bulging.
"Are you alright?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm fine, I just need to catch my breath," Ye Sihan's voice was hoarse.
"Let me see the wound," Xing Ling tried to pull her hand back, which he was holding tight.
However, Ye Sihan's grip was so strong she couldn't free herself.
"How could it bleed so easily?" Ye Sihan lifted his dark eyes to gaze deeply at her. "This pain is nothing."
"…Then, can you let go of my hand?" Xing Ling's gaze shifted to the side, her heartbeat pounding.
"Alright," Ye Sihan actually released her hand.
As she drew her hand back, it seemed to still retain the sense of pressure and warmth.
Xing Ling looked at the medicine on the coffee table, and while tidying up, she asked, "Where should I put these?"
"In the drawer of the bedside table."