In early December, Jiang Xiaoyan was discharged from the hospital.
Thanks to the timely treatment at the beginning and the use of the most cutting-edge medications,
she was left without a single scar on her body.
Somehow, she had become much gentler in personality afterward.
Every time Jiang Xu visited her in the hospital, she was as gentle as water, sweet and loving, the very image of a well-behaved young girl.
There were traces of performance, but not many.
Today, upon her discharge, she was wearing a black skirt that reached her knees, with black tights underneath.
Her upper body was clad in a white blouse.
A simple outfit, yet it stirred an impulse to ravage her fiercely.
Jiang Xu was somewhat astonished.
Jiang Xiaoyan's fashion sense had vastly improved.
It must have been taught by Zhou Qingyue.
"Finally discharged," Jiang Xiaoyan stood at the hospital entrance, stretching her arms wide: "The air outside is so fresh, don't you think so, Gego?"
