At that moment, she seemed to suddenly understand why Shang Yu couldn't stay calm when he saw injuries on her.
He couldn't bear to see himself injured, and as it turned out, she felt the same.
Because they cared, they didn't want to see any harm come to each other.
Even a fever could cause worry and anxiety.
Li Qiao curled her fingertips, her cheeks slightly taut, then reached out again to touch his smooth forehead, raising an eyebrow, "Take a temperature?"
Seeing her insistent look, Shang Yu, with a smile, stood up, put his arm around her shoulder, and walked to the living room, "Okay."
A few minutes later, Li Qiao looked at the temperature on the thermometer, and sure enough, he had a fever.
She handed the thermometer to Shang Yu, her expression faint, "38.2 degrees."
The man glanced at it casually, took the thermometer, and placed it on the coffee table.
Then, with his warm palm, he pinched Li Qiao's forearm and gently pulled her to his side.
