On the bed, Ye Qinghong stretched out her foot, the back of her foot tense, feeling her own icy-cold little foot being held by a broad and sturdy hand.
At this moment, her skin had turned red, resembling the enchanting beauty of clouds at sunrise or sunset.
Her silver teeth were biting down even harder.
The slender hand clutched the quilt tightly; where was the cold-hearted demeanor of the icy Swordsman from before?
Clearly...
She had been tormented by her master.
Into a completely different person.
"All he's doing now is healing me; there's no need to overthink it. My conscience is clear,"
Ye Qinghong muttered to herself internally, trying her best to keep calm. As for the words her master had reminded her of earlier, to endure a bit more, she didn't take them to heart at all.
It's just healing; how painful could it be?
That year when she was poisoned,
