He even personally wiped Yunwushu's body and changed her clothes, his movements as gentle as if he were treating the most fragile treasure. When his fingertips occasionally brushed against the bruises that had not yet faded, he would uncontrollably stiffen for a moment, with deep pain and self-blame in his eyes.
His care was meticulous and impeccable, with an almost pious sense of atonement.
In Chrisel's eyes, those deep pupils, it seemed difficult to find anything else except the deep guilt and heavy responsibility.
The way he looked at him was as if he was looking at a rare piece of porcelain that needed careful repair and was broken by him accidentally. It was full of a sense of mission to repair it, but lacked... the warmth that once made Yun Wushu's heart beat out of control.
One afternoon, Bai Yan's arrival finally disrupted the strange atmosphere between the two.
"How is he?" Bai Yan lowered his voice and glanced at the closed door of the inner room.
"Just fell asleep." Chrisel rubbed his tired brow, his voice hoarse, "The condition has stabilized a little, but the body is still very weak."
Bai Yan looked at the dark circles under Chrisel's eyes and the lingering heaviness between his brows, and was silent for a moment. He picked up an empty potion bottle from the table, twirled it between his fingers, and asked casually, "Chrisel, are you planning on... taking care of him like this for the rest of his life?"
Chrisel paused holding the pen, and the ink smudged a little on the document.
He raised his head, his eyes showing a hint of displeasure at being disturbed, but more of confusion: "Of course, this is what I should do, and I owe him." His tone was firm and as if it were a matter of course.
"Debt?" Bai Yan raised an eyebrow, his gaze behind the glasses sharpening, "Because of what happened that night, or because of the wedding?"
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