Jiang Nuan pressed the medical scissors against the blood-soaked clothes clinging to Ye Que’s body.
Steadying her fingers, she began cutting through the fabric inch by inch along the edge of the wound.
The moment the cloth peeled away, Jiang Nuan’s heart lurched.
The injury was far more horrifying than it had appeared from the outside.
The flesh had split open and turned outward, with the deepest part nearly exposing the bone. Blood was still oozing from the surrounding skin, dripping onto the sofa covered with a medical cloth.
This was not “just a little injury.”
This was a wound that had nearly cost him his life.
She couldn’t wipe such a large wound directly with alcohol. The pain alone could send someone into shock.
“I’ll rinse the blood away first.” Jiang Nuan’s voice was tight with nerves.
“Mm.” Ye Que leaned back against the sofa, his eyes half-closed.
She unscrewed a bottle of saline and carefully controlled the flow, letting it trickle slowly over the skin around the wound.
The clotted blood washed away, revealing even more injuries.
The edges of the wound were already beginning to swell slightly. They couldn’t delay any longer.
She dipped a sterile cotton ball in alcohol. “I’m going to disinfect the skin around the wound.”
“All right.” Ye Que’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t be afraid.”
…He was the one in pain.
Jiang Nuan cleared her mind completely and carefully pressed the cotton ball against the skin surrounding the wound.
The cold, biting scent of alcohol immediately filled the air.
Ye Que’s breathing grew noticeably quicker. A fine sheen of cold sweat appeared at his temples and slid down his pale cheek.
Yet he never made a sound.
Once she had cleaned the surrounding skin, she stared at the deepest part of the wound. The gauze in her hand suddenly felt unbearably heavy.
The wound had to be stitched.
And everything she knew about suturing came from a few short videos she had watched in her previous life—videos of people practicing on oranges.
Besides…
“Ye Que.” Her throat felt dry. “Your wound has to be sutured.”
“But the Cleaners gave you a large dose of anesthetic earlier. Taking a second injection so soon… could cause acute heart failure.”
The living room fell into complete silence.
On the cat tree, Jiangjiang rolled over, exposing her round belly, and let out a muffled grunt.
Ye Que’s lashes drooped, hiding every emotion in his eyes.
His breathing was weak, but his voice was unexpectedly calm.
“It’s fine. Stitch it directly.”
Jiang Nuan’s scalp prickled.
He wanted her to drive a needle through living flesh, one stitch at a time, without anesthesia?
“Are you serious?”
He turned his head toward her. His eyes were clouded with blood loss, yet they held a hint of reassurance.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He was comforting her again…
He was the one who would have to endure the agony, yet he was telling her not to be afraid.
She drew in a deep breath and forced the ache in her chest back down. “…All right.”
She turned around and removed the jacket that would have gotten in the way, revealing the dress beneath.
She had bought the dress while shopping that day. After several battles, a large section of its lower hem had been torn away.
As the jacket slipped off, the neckline fell slightly lower.
The faint mark near her collarbone was exposed beneath the light. Its color had already begun to fade, but its shape remained.
Qinian had left it in the dressing room backstage.
Ye Que’s gaze paused briefly on that spot before moving away, his long lashes concealing every emotion in his eyes.
Jiang Nuan didn’t notice. She was doing everything she could to overcome her fear of needles, threading the curved suture needle and disinfecting it meticulously with alcohol.
“I’m going to start.” She sat beside Ye Que and gently pressed down on the skin beside the wound with her left hand. “It’s going to hurt. You should… find something to bite down on.”
Her eyes instinctively fell on the stack of clean gauze nearby.
“No need.” He shook his head, his emotions impossible to read.
Jiang Nuan stopped trying to persuade him. Steadying her breathing, she pressed the curved needle against the skin at the edge of the wound.
When the first stitch went in, the sensation of the needle piercing skin traveled through her fingers.
The flesh was tougher than she had imagined. It took considerable force to push the needle through.
Ye Que turned his face away, his jaw suddenly clenching tight. The veins at his temples stood out beneath his skin.
A soft, muffled groan escaped through his tightly sealed lips, only to be cut off at once.
Yet his body remained perfectly still.
“…I’m fine.” His hoarse voice came through clenched teeth. “Keep going.”
Jiang Nuan’s eyes burned, but she didn’t dare stop moving.
She couldn’t stop. If she did, she was afraid she would never find the courage to drive the needle in again.
The second stitch.
The third.
Every stitch was a long ordeal—not only for Ye Que, but for her as well.
His breathing grew heavier. Each time she pulled the thread tight, his breath caught for a moment.
The cold sweat on his forehead had gathered into a sheen, sliding along his brow and into the corners of his eyes. He had bitten his lips until they split, and a trace of blood spread across his lower lip.
He was trembling.
But he never moved.
Jiang Nuan saw the blood seeping from between his lips, and it felt as though an invisible hand had closed around her heart.
“If it hurts too much…” She shifted to the side and pressed her shoulder to his lips. “Bite me.”
Ye Que didn’t move.
Jiang Nuan gritted her teeth and drove in the next stitch.
This time, the needle passed through the deepest, torn flesh. The force required to draw the wound together made even her hand tremble.
A muffled groan, suppressed to the very limit, escaped from Ye Que’s throat.
The next second, his lips and teeth closed over her shoulder.
Near her collarbone.
Exactly where the mark was.
Jiang Nuan’s breath caught.
His first bite came down with almost no restraint.
A sharp pain spread from her shoulder, and Jiang Nuan let out a muffled groan.
She held herself rigid and did not pull away.
Her hand remained steady as she continued.
Push the needle through. Pull the thread. Tie the knot.
At that moment, Ye Que seemed to sense her trembling.
He abruptly came to his senses, the pressure of his teeth easing.
But he didn’t move away. His teeth still rested lightly against her skin, his hot, hurried breaths washing over the small patch of flesh reddened by his bite.
The next stitch.
Another wave of pain surged through him.
Ye Que’s body began to tremble again, but this time he didn’t bite her with the same brutal force.
Instead, he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, rubbing that small patch of skin over and over with his teeth.
Back and forth.
Again and again.
There had originally been someone else’s mark there.
As though using this painful, ambiguous gesture, he was slowly erasing the trace left by another and replacing it with his own.
But Jiang Nuan had no attention to spare for such emotions. She simply clenched her teeth and continued stitching, one needle at a time.
The dull ache in her shoulder mingled with his searing breath, blending with the heat of his trembling body.
The final stitch went in.
She tied the knot and cut the thread.
Then she placed the needle back on the tray.
Finally released from the long torture, Ye Que’s breath remained buried in the hollow of her neck, heavy and hot. It took quite some time for it to gradually settle.
Jiang Nuan was exhausted as well. She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes for a minute.
At last, he lifted his head and pulled away from her shoulder.
That patch of skin was covered in deep and shallow marks, overlapping the bite mark that had already begun to fade, as though it had been violently rewritten.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Jiang Nuan lowered her eyes and quietly applied the medicine, covered the wound with gauze, and secured it with tape.
The living room fell silent once more.
Only Jiangjiang had somehow slipped over again at some point, curling up beneath the coffee table, her tail swishing back and forth across the floor.
