"Mo Qian!"
Ji Wei was startled to see Mo Qian but quickly regained her composure. Taking advantage of Yamamoto Yu's momentary distraction, she forcefully pulled her hand back and walked up to Mo Qian.
Mo Qian had his suit jacket draped over one arm. His shirt was slightly disheveled, the sleeves rolled high above his elbows. He had clearly rushed over, as his chest was still rising and falling with labored breaths.
Meanwhile, two men in black stood at the door, their faces bearing bruises and cuts; neither dared to step inside.
Ji Wei quickly noticed his clenched fists. The skin across his knuckles was scraped, and dark red blood had already dried and crusted there.
Realizing how the men at the door had gotten their injuries, she grabbed his hand and inspected it carefully. Concern flickered in her eyes, her voice soft with worry. "Does it hurt?"
When Mo Qian glanced at her, his previously stern expression visibly softened, his gaze tender as he replied, "No, it doesn't."
