His black shirt was already soaked with the red blood. Because there was one button that was buttoned, Leng Zhiyuan could see that he'd wounded himself with his scratches again very clearly, and those pink scars that overlapped one another were added with new injuries. The blood stains were all present.
Leng Zhiyuan walked over to the front of the bed. Zhou Yao shut his eyes tight. His breathing was very gentle, but his chest was panting very powerfully, and he had the strength to make others feel at ease.
She parted her legs and walked over to the bathroom, and she took a pail of water out.
She placed the towel into the warm water as she dampened it, then she wrung it dry. She sat down by the side of the bed and gently helped him wipe his face.
Zhou Yao's thick long lashes fluttered for a moment. He swallowed his saliva, then he slowly raised his hand up to hold her small hand.
