In His Arms

 After a stern round of scolding, Mr Xia finally let people into the house. The atmosphere shifted from tense to relieved as Siān's wounds were assessed and treated with care. His wounds, although visible, were merely superficial bruises that disfigured his flesh and not some serious injury. Luckily, no blood was shed to stain the floor or add to the worry, and a sense of relief swept over the group as they focused on her speedy recovery.

The doctor carefully massaged Siān's arm while he thawed out the medicine as the heat permeated his skin. He wrapped it gently in soft gauze. Each gentle movement seemed to comfort him a bit, but nearby, Lan Qisheng's face contorted into a pain that was equal to his own. His broad, anxious eyes conveyed the extent of their connection, conveying the pain that informed him he felt each moment of Sian's suffering as if it were his own.