"Cough cough..."
Ye Qingzhou coughed lightly twice, as if trying to dispel the stagnant air.
He cautiously glanced back and forth between the two men, as if afraid of accidentally offending one of them and incurring a beating.
Seeing that they were all silent, he cleared his throat and said in a slightly teasing tone, "I'll go out and check on Wang Jian first. You guys continue."
"Wang Jian?"
Upon hearing this name, Gu Zhixing was jolted back to reality. He immediately raised his head, his gaze sharp as a knife as he looked at Ye Qingzhou, as if trying to extract more information from him.
Ye Qingzhou nodded blankly, his eyes still showing a hint of confusion, as if he hadn't recovered from the tense atmosphere just now: "Yes, three days ago, Miss Shen's people suddenly found the missing Wang Jian, and he's locked up in the dark dungeon now!"
"Boss, you... Oh, I remember now, you slept for three days, and you don't know what happened during those three days."
Ye Qingzhou slapped his forehead, a look of sudden realization on his face, his tone tinged with a hint of teasing and mockery.
Gu Zhixing's expression stiffened slightly, and a hint of embarrassment flashed in his eyes, like a shadow seen in sunlight.
He quickly grabbed something from the bedside table and threw it at Ye Qingzhou, his voice low and helpless: "Get out!"
Ye Qingzhou caught the tossed object with lightning speed, and immediately put on a fawning smile: "Yes, ma'am!"
He turned and walked toward the door, his steps light as if the scene had never happened.
Ye Qingzhou slipped out as if fleeing, not forgetting to "thoughtfully" close the carved wooden door behind her, as if afraid of disturbing the two people's time alone.
The room fell silent suddenly, with only the gurgling of the silver kettle on the medicine stove. The rising steam swirled between the two of them, as if draping the silence in a hazy veil.
The tassels hanging from Shen Jintang's waist swayed gently as she stirred the medicine, making a soft rustling sound.
Gu Zhixing's gaze was fixed on the outline of the bandages that were faintly visible under her waist, as if he was attracted by something and could not look away.
Is the wound still bleeding?
His voice was terribly hoarse, as if it were being squeezed out of his throat, carrying a hint of suppressed concern.
He reached out to touch her waist, but Shen Jintang slapped his hand hard on the back of his hand. The crisp sound was particularly jarring in the quiet room.
Shen Jintang didn't even lift his eyelids, his tone as cold as ice: "Your Highness should first look at the blood seeping from your chest."
She turned slightly to the side, and as her moon-white wide sleeves slipped down, the red marks from his earlier grip on her wrists were still visible.
Gu Zhixing suddenly threw off the covers and got off the bed. The pain of his torn wound surged up like a tidal wave, and everything went black before his eyes.
But he seemed oblivious to the pain, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close.
The medicine cup was overturned on the brocade carpet, the dark brown medicine staining a hideous mark, as if silently accusing something.
"Let me see your injury." He gently stroked the pulse on her wrist with his thumb; the pulse was weak and rapid, as if it were telling a story.
His brows furrowed involuntarily, as if he could sense the pain in her body.
His voice was low and hoarse, dry from just waking up, as if it had been ground by sand: "Let me see."
Hearing his words, Shen Jintang's fingertips paused slightly, but she didn't look up, her tone as cold as ice: "You won't die."
She always knows how to handle things carefully; it's just a minor injury, no need to make such a fuss.
She suffered much more serious injuries before, and she still survived, didn't she?
Gu Zhixing stared at her pale profile, her cheeks as if covered in frost and snow, devoid of any color.
The dull pain in my chest returned, as if it were being tightly gripped by something.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, his voice carrying an undeniable authority: "Let me see."
No need to worry.
Shen Jintang's voice remained calm, yet carried a hint of coldness.
She suddenly twisted his wrist back with force, and in the instant Gu Zhixing loosened his grip in pain, she took two steps back, only to bump into the antique shelf behind her.
The bronze lamp with its intertwined branches swayed violently, its light and shadow flickering across her face, as if adding to the disarray of her emotions.
The two looked at each other, panting, across the overturned medicine cup. The medicine that had been poured out of the cup was still steaming, and the dark brown liquid had spread a stain on the carpet.
Just then, the evening drum sounded outside the window, its dull sound echoing in the air, as if setting the rhythm for this silent standoff.
"Your Highness, you should take care of yourself first." She raised her eyes, her amber eyes clear and sharp, carrying a hint of mockery. "After being unconscious for three days, you're already showing off as soon as you wake up?"
He pursed his lips, but his fingertips unconsciously caressed her wrist bone—it was too thin, as if it could break with the slightest force.
His voice deepened, as if it were squeezed from the bottom of his heart: "That night at Qingyakou, you stabbed yourself and bled so much..."
“It’s already been taken care of.” She withdrew her hand, her tone indifferent, as if she were talking about something insignificant. “No need for Your Highness to worry.”
Gu Zhixing's eyes darkened, as if stung by her words.
He suddenly leaned forward, bracing himself on the edge of the bed. The sudden movement aggravated the wound on his chest, causing him to groan in pain. Yet, he stubbornly reached out to touch her waist: "Shen Jintang, you—"
She suddenly took half a step back, her skirt fluttering like flower petals swept up by the wind.
She gritted her teeth, a hint of annoyance finally rising in her eyes: "Gu Zhixing! Why do you have to argue with me now?"
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