The illness-stricken him shed his usual sharpness, becoming gentle and harmless, with a somewhat pale but not distant expression on his exquisite face, and fine hair scattered across his forehead, adding a touch of sickly beauty.
Tong Yan saw him wake up and finally breathed a sigh of relief, "You're awake? Is there any part of your body that still feels uncomfortable?"
Bo Yimo's jet-black eyes moved slightly, curving his lips into a faint smile, "Baby, we can go three hundred rounds."
Oh, it seems he's better.
Tong Yan: ...
Jeez, if you're feeling better, just say it nicely!
Tong Yan went to bring some porridge, handing it to him, "You must be hungry, I've made some porridge."
Bo Yimo: "My hand hurts."
Tong Yan: ...
Hurts my ass!
You have a fever, what's with the hand pain!
Besides, the fever's already gone down, okay!
Clearly expressionless, but why did she hear a hint of coquettishness?
#Beep—, the cool Emperor Bo persona has collapsed#
