The clothing at her shoulder had slipped down, revealing a section of her smooth, fair skin.
Apparently impatient with her movements, he reached behind her and gave a tug, instantly exposing her wound to the chill, causing her to tense up.
Her body was stained with blood, but everyone thought it belonged to someone else.
The alcohol was quickly applied to disinfect, and Wen Xian clenched the wheelchair tightly, biting down hard on her lips.
In fact, she was lucky amid the misfortune, not having been shot for real.
Neither of them spoke; even in pain, she clenched her teeth tightly.
The person behind her was silent too, focusing on the wound, treating it, disinfecting, and bandaging. His silence grew heavier, his breath more oppressive and cold.
If he hadn't discovered it by accident, she would never have told him.
He just stared at that wound, as if a scene kept flashing through his mind.
A gun aimed at her.
Aimed at her.
