As the sun sets, night quietly falls.
A girl wearing a loose black shirt, dangling her thin legs, sat on the edge of the bed, pulling at the overly long sleeves of her shirt.
Having just taken a shower, her rosy face looked like a peeled egg, fair and smooth.
She was looking at her knee-length shirt with a headache, as her young master Ye wouldn't let her wear the two sets of clothes she had brought.
She said it was too worn out and looked terrible. I'll go with her to buy a new set of clothes when the ship docks tomorrow.
Tell her to wear his clothes for tonight and make do.
But his clothes were really too long for her; the sleeves were way too long.
The hem of the dress reached her knees; it was a ready-made shirt dress.
Just as she was secretly thinking of going out barefoot, Ye Minghan, who had finished his bath, came out of the bathroom wearing a black bathrobe.
He dried his still-dripping short hair with a towel in one hand and carried a bottle of ointment in the other, as he walked gracefully toward the large bed.
Hua Qingyan was shocked to see him walk independently, her bright eyes blinking as she stared at his feet.
They can walk freely without any hindrance.
She saw him sitting in a wheelchair and assumed he couldn't walk, so she didn't dare ask.
What's going on here?
Seeing the girl's surprised expression, Ye Minghan couldn't help but smile mockingly.
He walked to the bedside, casually tossed the half-damp towel he was holding onto a chair, then sat down beside her and chuckled softly:
"Did Yan Yan think I was a cripple with both legs disabled?"
After he finished speaking, he took her slender little hand, pulled up her sleeve, and revealed her little arm covered with blisters.
He had only noticed this when she came out of the bathroom and raised her hand to dry her hair; her wide sleeves had slipped down to her shoulders, revealing her fair arms.
At that moment, seeing the burns on her hands, he almost couldn't suppress the violence within him and wanted to go on a killing spree.
Hua Qingyan sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at Ye Da, the handsome man sitting right next to her.
After his shower, he exuded a refreshing minty scent that invigorated her—the same scent she knew best.
She looked down at her forearm, where her sleeve had been pulled up. The burn was three days ago when she tried to roast sweet potatoes but didn't know how to light a fire and got burned by a spark.
Looking back on the first seven years, her parents really treated her like a fragile piece of jade. Even though the family was not wealthy, they never let her do anything, let alone allow her to enter the kitchen.
Therefore, she had no idea about the way to start a fire in this era.
At the time, she fumbled around for a long time before she could get a spark, but things didn't go as planned. Not only did she fail, but the sparks flew out and hit her arm, causing several blisters.
When she got burned, there was no extra cold water at home to rinse it off, and no burn ointment. She endured it for three days, and even broke two or three burns, which are now starting to fester.
As for the water she used to bathe for those three days, it was all brought back and boiled for her by that girl Yu Yuanyuan.
The girl, pulling herself back from her reverie, looked at Ye Minghan, who was intently applying medicine to her, and softly asked the question that had been nagging at her:
"Hanhan, your legs are fine, why do you still need to use a wheelchair?"
She had been calling him "Hanhan" for decades without realizing it was inappropriate, and it just came out unconsciously.
Ye Minghan did not correct her. This exclusive nickname gave him a subtle feeling that he and she had been together for centuries.
After popping the blisters, he used a cotton swab to apply a special burn ointment to each one gently.
Only after making sure nothing was missed did he tighten the cap of the glass bottle containing the ointment, and then looked up to meet the little one's inquisitive gaze.
The question in her eyes was almost overflowing; she seemed genuinely troubled and couldn't understand it.
He smiled slightly, his eyelashes lowered, as if he were pondering something. Two seconds later, he focused his gaze on her fair face, his deep eyes shining with a soft light as he looked at her intently.
“I have suffered from a strange illness since birth. During the day, I have no feeling in my legs, and they only return to normal after nightfall.”
This was his biggest secret, unknown even to Commander Ye and his adjutant Yang, who was always by his side.
For the past fourteen years, he didn't care and simply ignored it.
Now, with her by his side, he needs to recover.
Because of her appearance, once she grows up and appears in the world, she will definitely attract plunder from all sides. He needs even greater power to protect her.
He raised his slender fingers to brush away the strands of hair clinging to her temples, then picked up the towel she had placed on the edge of the bed and gently dried her still damp hair.
The girl, who had been treated gently by him, was stunned for a long time after hearing his words.
In the previous world, she was tormented by a strange heart disease; in this life, it is his turn to be plagued by an unknown and strange illness!
In this chaotic era of war, without a healthy body, one is destined to become fish on someone else's chopping block, at their mercy.
How could her handsome man be ruined by someone else!
Moreover, she hadn't forgotten her mission: to accompany him as he grew old peacefully in each of the little worlds, and to let him feel happiness.
Ye Minghan lowered his eyes, his gaze sweeping over her slightly furrowed brows. A deep, ambiguous smile flickered in his eyes. His slender fingertips gently caressed her fair eyebrows as he whispered:
"What's Yan Yan thinking? Are you afraid I'm not capable of protecting you? Or do you look down on me because I'm disabled?"
As he spoke the last few words, a hint of loneliness crept into his slightly hoarse voice, and his eyes revealed an indescribable sadness.
He seemed to be shrouded in an aura of despair, as if he had lost all sense of purpose in living in this world.
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