Little Tangerine was quite straightforward, she immediately pulled off the sleeve that Zhang Xiaohua used to cover his face, and said with sobs, "My mistress is so sick, what's there for you to be shy of?"
Zhang Xiaohua scoffed in his heart, thinking, "Such a greenhorn, really not worth my shyness."
However, upon looking closer, he indeed couldn't bear it.
Miss Nie's face was flush, her mouth spotted with blisters, her parched lips turning white. Her wrist was carefully bandaged, but swollen. She lay there weakly, muttering something incoherent.
Zhang Xiaohua, seeing her delirious from fever, frowned slightly. He was no physician, he didn't know how to treat her. Even with strong vital energy, what could he do?
He weakly asked, "Miss, have you given her any water?"
