"Tong'er, does the medicine work? Does your hand still hurt?" Feng Yuran gently applied the medication on Mo Xuetong's hand under the candlelight. There was a flash of dark purple light in his clear, sparkling eyes as he looked at her red and swollen hands that had traces of blood on them.
The extremely careful expression was out of place on Feng Yuran's face. However, Mo Xuetong felt warm and toasty for some reason. Even the injury on her hands did not hurt as much. She nodded subconsciously and then shook her head. She looked at Feng Yuran, whose beautiful phoenix-eyes were widened and was looking a little lost. Then, she laughed.
How could this man be so nervous and adorable? He was not at all arrogant as rumors said he was. He was just a handsome child-like youth.
