Qiao Mo gently released her hand, stepped aside, and watched silently as he adjusted the bed.
After a few seconds, seeing the ssy room, she planned to tidy up a bit when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her: "Xiao Mo."
His voice was deep, hoarse, and filled with emotion.
Qiao Mo did not look at him, only tried to withdraw her hand, ignoring his intent.
Yet this ti, he held on tightly, clearly unwilling to let go.
Realizing she couldn’t break free, Qiao Mo resigned herself to stillness, not speaking, seemingly fatigued.
Seeing her pale face, his heart ached, and he gently pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder, lowering his gaze to hide his unease, softly saying: "Xiao Mo, I thought you were going to leave ..."
Qiao Mo’s nose tingled, her eyes quickly shrouded with a thin mist. She lowered her gaze, quietly concealing it, silent.
Was he afraid?
But what was he afraid of...
Was he afraid she would leave, or afraid that she, resembling the person from his mories, would leave.
His chest was warm, at the mont without a shirt, perfect as if he walked out of an oil painting. But Qiao Mo’s heart felt cold, recalling the fear and despair earlier, she felt a sad irony towards herself.
The dagger, more like it had pierced her heart, breath halted, ti stilled, the world silent.
The entire world seed only left with the sound of his bleeding, thick, scorching, overflowing onto her hands.
Yet, it felt even more painful than piercing her heart, painful to the point of convulsions, suffocation, like a dagger gouged a piece of flesh from her heart, hollow, bloody.
Qiao Mo felt like a bird trapped in a cage, ironically beginning to care for the owner who imprisoned her.
She sadly thought, she had co to like him.
Thinking of this, she felt even more sorrowful, sorrowful for her betrayal of Jing Hao, not just of body, but of spirit.
But she felt even more sorrowful knowing she wasn’t the girl from his mories, so, he wouldn’t let her go because he treated her as a substitute, right?
Realizing this, her nose began to tingle, feeling aggrieved and sorrowful, wanting to cry.
But she ultimately only bit down hard on her teeth, hands hanging at her sides, clenched tight, without making a sound.
Applying more force, a slight grip, the sharp cut reopens, fresh crimson blood seeped through the original scab, dripping down her fingers.
Soon, the quiet hospital room resonated with the sound of ’drip drip’.
Fu Nancheng gently took her hand, pulled her aside, intending to treat her wound.
But just as he picked up the cotton swab, Qiao Mo took action herself, without speaking, rejecting his help.
His face looked sowhat unpleasant, yet he sat quietly on the side without speaking further.
Applying dicine was manageable, but wrapping the gauze was evidently difficult, after much effort, the gauze couldn’t properly cover the wound.
Fu Nancheng eventually couldn’t bear to watch, took over, and started wrapping directly without asking.
Qiao Mo watched him silently, his thin lips lightly pursed, appearing sowhat displeased, his profile striking like a fairy in a book, easily ensnaring one’s soul.
The two stayed in the hospital, planning to return early the next morning.
As night fell, Qiao Mo hurriedly wiped her face in the bathroom, climbed onto the hospital bed without speaking, ignoring the man seated on the sofa.
Reviews
All reviews (0)