The pitch-black night ignited specks of red light.
The thick scent of gunpowder permeated the air.
At the critical moment, Lu Youting turned around and pulled Jian Si into his arms, falling to the ground and rolling behind the sofa to hide.
The piercing sound of gunfire was unending.
It shook their eardrums until they buzzed.
Jian Si huddled in Lu Youting's embrace, her hands gripping his waist tightly, not daring to move.
Suddenly.
A sensation of warmth and wetness spread across her palm.
She opened her hand to take a look.
It was covered in blood.
Lu Youting was injured?
Jian Si's breath hitched, and she pushed aside her fears, immediately checking his condition: "Lu Youting, you're injured? Tell me quickly, where are you hurt?"
Lu Youting pressed down her restless hand, his voice hoarse: "Don't worry, it's nothing."
The tone betrayed his unbearable pain.