His fingertips touched the skin on her wrist, which was delicate and cool, like the thin frost of early winter.
He could feel the frequency of her pulse and sensed that she was somewhat weak.
He stared at the bandage wrapped around her waist, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear: "Let me see your injury."
His thumb unconsciously rubbed the pale blue veins on her wrist, as if soothing a frightened little bird.
"Let go."
Shen Jintang's voice was as cold as ice, but her wrist trembled slightly.
“You were so ruthless. I clearly saw a lot of blood flowing from your body, and it wouldn’t stop…” Gu Zhixing’s voice seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, with a slight sob, “I was afraid something would happen to you.”
Fragments of memory suddenly flooded into my mind like a tidal wave.
That night at Qingyakou, Shen Jintang raised her hand and plunged the knife into her own abdomen without hesitation.
Blood instantly stained her clothes, but she gritted her teeth, endured the excruciating pain, and pinned the bandit to the ground.
At that moment, blood gushed out like a spring, unstoppable. Gu Zhixing felt a blood-red blur before his eyes, and his heart was gripped tightly.
Shen Jintang suddenly leaned forward, her hair, like soft feathers, gently brushing against Gu Zhixing's bleeding bandage, bringing a faint, ticklish sensation.
Her voice was low and calm: "Gu Zhixing."
“Look at this…” She lightly touched the fresh bloodstains seeping from his chest with her fingertip; the crimson spot stood out starkly against the white cloth. “Who is in more danger now?”
"hiss--"
Ye Qingzhou stood frozen in place, clutching the antique shelf beside him, gasping for breath and secretly sweating for his boss.
He watched helplessly as his eldest son's ears turned bloodshot, a red that was a mixture of shame, anger, and concern.
However, Gu Zhixing stubbornly held onto Shen Jintang's wrist, as if it were his only support.
Amidst the fragrant aroma of herbs, faint red finger marks were visible on that fair wrist, as if etched by fate.
Shen Jintang just watched him quietly, her eyes calm and undisturbed, yet seemingly able to see through his heart.
Just then, the evening drum sounded outside the window, its deep and long sound echoing in the air, startling the copper bells under the eaves.
The bell rang crisply and urgently, as if reminding someone of something, or breaking the frozen silence.
Gu Zhixing suddenly snapped out of his reverie. His eyes flickered slightly, as if he had thought of something, and he slowly looked away.
His fingers loosened their grip on Shen Jintang's wrist, but the finger marks on it remained as clear as branding marks.
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