"Does it hurt?"
"It's... it's okay."
"Just bear with it for a moment. I'll be quick."
Though Zhao Jing's words were proper, his gaze was dangerously deep.
The skin beneath his palm was soft and smooth, exquisitely fine, a sensation that was hard to forget.
Perhaps it was the pain that made her flinch. At a sight like this, Zhao Jing should have felt nothing but heartache for her, and he truly did. Yet, beyond the heartache, a dense, tingling itch spread from his heart, making him swallow hard as his body began to stir restlessly.
For both of them, applying the ointment was a form of torture.
Fortunately, Zhao Jing finished quickly. After carefully helping her lie down on the bed, he swiftly left the room.
The room fell silent, with only the pungent scent of medicinal oil lingering in the air. Chen Wanqing carefully turned to face the wall, burying her face in the covers.
