Jiang Che saw Lu Sirong slumped motionless over the desk, surrounded by a group of women looking at him with eyes reserved for a faithless lover.
His face twisted with annoyance, he took two steps forward and grabbed Lu Sirong's arm, "Lu Sirong, what are you playing at?"
Ge Weihong had intended to stop Jiang Che, but she hadn't expected his actions to be so swift, and could only watch as he flipped Lu Sirong's limp body over.
"Ah..." Lu Sirong let out a weak, feeble moan.
Her face was as pale as paper, and her body, when tugged by Jiang Che, slid down limply.
Ge Weihong was three parts worried, seven parts acting, "Sirong, what's wrong with you? You better not scare me..."
Before she could finish speaking, someone nervously reminded, "Blood, there's blood on her leg."
"Ah!" Ge Weihong yelled in alarm, promptly lifting the hem of Lu Sirong's skirt.
Sure enough, there was a conspicuous spot of red on her leg; as someone who had been through it all, she understood at a glance.
