Yan Xiaye's cheeks were slightly red as she responded hastily.
Under the gentle afternoon sunlight, the rays danced in the air like sprites, creating a tranquil and tender atmosphere that was unforgettable.
Fortunately, this was the private corridor of the VIP ward where, unless needed by a patient, nurses and doctors were not allowed to make rounds without permission.
As long as the man closed his eyes to feign sleep, no one could see the panic she barely managed to conceal.
Her gaze softly landed on the man's right hand, clad in a black leather glove, causing a twinge of pain to cross her heart.
Although the man had told her it was unnecessary to mind, she still clearly remembered the ugly crisscross scars in the pristine white palm of his hand—the scars that were left from saving her.
Thinking that she should visit Old Master Tao soon with some good dishes, Yan Xiaye quietly withdrew her gaze and lowered her eyes to the man's strikingly handsome face.