The thin gauze curtain by the window fluttered, and the young girl's face was also scratched, not very noticeable from a distance, but up close, the wounds must have been horrific.
But her eyes were clear and clean, like a spring of water, free of any murkiness.
Drenched in sweat, Yan Jingting leaned on a chair, unable to snap out of his daze for quite some time.
Wu Zhou, standing beside the bed, frowned, his voice carrying the rawness of youth and the huskiness of a voice breaking, scolded her, "What were you doing up the mountain at night? Look at the state you've gotten yourself into."
Yan Jingting, who had been about to leave, stopped upon hearing this question, and clumsily maneuvered his wheelchair a bit closer.
He didn't want to hear Chu Zhiyi talk about the difficulty she must have had coming back, he simply wanted to know whether she had returned that night at all.
