Seeing Lin Yuan struggle with the door for half a day but still persisting, Xia Zheng found it difficult to watch. He stepped forward and took her small hand, which had been marked by the wooden door, and examined it carefully, frowning and muttering, "What's more valuable, the door or your hand? You scratched up your hand over a lousy door!"
Lin Yuan's face turned red, and she quickly withdrew her hand, glancing around guiltily to see if anyone had noticed before pouting and grumbling, "A broken hand can heal, but a broken door needs money to replace. Of course, the door is more valuable."
Besides, her hand wasn't really scratched; at most, it was just marked with a pale line, not even red. Rubbing her hands together, even those pale marks disappeared.
