Jiang Li, carrying a wooden basin, walked over to the well.
Uncle Zhao's house didn't have a water heater, so she could only make do with boiling some hot water to wash up.
However, just as she loosened the bucket into the well, a voice came from above.
"Miss Jiang, haven't you washed up yet, even at this late hour?"
Jiang Li looked up and locked eyes with Zhao Lang on the second floor.
The man was still wearing the white silk shirt from the afternoon, and his tousled hair fluttered in the evening breeze, his long eyes shining like a starry river.
Differently, the bandage around his forehead seemed thicker, and even the bloodstains were a bit blurred.
Jiang Li naturally averted her gaze and politely responded, "No, I was just about to boil some hot water."
Zhao Lang exclaimed "Ah," then quickly walked down the stairs.
"I forgot to tell you, our house can now take showers."
Saying that, he opened the door of the woodshed and gestured for Jiang Li to enter.