"Zhang Cong?" Song Chi asked groggily.
Zhang Cong stood behind Zhou Yun, cautiously replying: "Brother Chi, it's Sister Xiao Yun who's here."
In the darkness, that silhouette seemed to freeze, motionless.
Zhou Yun fumbled around, finding the light switch.
She pressed it, and the light came on.
The room instantly brightened.
Song Chi was lying on the bed, both his right hand and left foot encased in plaster casts.
There were also wounds on his face, covered with gauze.
As the light came on, Zhou Yun's gaze met Song Chi's at that very moment.
Zhou Yun's eyes instantly reddened.
What to say?
Zhou Yun didn't know how to describe her feelings.
She had never seen Song Chi so battered before, nor seen him in such a state.
She turned away, raised her hand to wipe away the tears she couldn't hold back, took a deep breath, walked up to Song Chi, and sat down on the stool beside the bed.
"Is this what you call 'nothing serious'?" Zhou Yun raised her eyebrows, looking at Song Chi.
