Nalan Ye Jue could only resign himself to having his mouth taped shut by Qin Xin.
He watched, eyes wide open, as Qin Xin held her exclusive scalpel with the letter Q engraved on it and gestured around his knee, yet he couldn't offer a single comment.
Uh, his little wife's wedding gift was really too f-reak-ing exciting.
The next second, Qin Xin made a shallow cut on his knee, implanted some kind of slow-release drug in it, then picked up a syringe and gave him a shot.
She didn't use any anesthetic.
But, weirdly enough, it didn't hurt at all.
You know, last year, in order to go to a ball with her, he'd worn a knee brace and hurt his knee; when they did surgery to remove the inflamed, suppurating tissue without anesthesia, the pain level was over ten, equivalent to a woman giving birth naturally—and then doubled.
He'd suffered for nothing.
If he'd known, he would've handed everything about his body over to his little wife to manage.
