Qiao Jing's eyelids twitched, and she furrowed her eyebrows, her gaze sweeping over her own abdomen.
"No need, I'm much better now."
Zhan Qipei knew what Qiao Jing was worried about.
"Alright then, take your own pulse."
Hearing this, Qiao Jing sighed in relief and did not refuse.
Zhan Qipei's expression tensed as he scrutinized Qiao Jing, taking her in repeatedly.
"How is your body? Is there any discomfort? Do you feel dizzy? Does the wound still hurt?"
The man shot out a string of questions, which made Qiao Jing somewhat helpless.
"It's fine, much better."
The wound had been stitched up, and it could now slowly heal; having rested for a night, her body, which had originally felt a bit off, had also recovered a lot.
Zhan Qipei stared at Qiao Jing's wound with intense concern and finally spoke.
"The wound was stitched up yesterday; the doctor said it won't leave a scar, remember, you must tell me if there's any discomfort."
