Ye Mochen instinctively narrowed his eyes, seemingly unaccustomed to the light outside.
He buried his face deeper into Ran Weiyi’s neck, greedily inhaling the scent that brought him peace.
The fragrance drifted into his senses like the most potent sedative, instantly soothing his nearly uncontrollable emotions. His tall frame leaned even closer to her.
This complete trust made Jiang Pei, standing nearby, feel a pang in his eyes.
Having followed Mo Chen for so many years, he had seen him make decisive moves amid gunfire and rain of bullets, witnessed him turning the tables on negotiation tables, but he had never seen him so… docile.
This was far from the tyrant who would tear everything apart.
This was more like a large dog, lost for three days and nights, finally brought back home.
The carpet was so soft it seemed to swallow all sound, leaving only a gentle sensation underfoot.
Ran Weiyi led him to the enormous black leather sofa in the center of the living room.
He offered no resistance, not even a hint of hesitation.
If she told him to walk, he walked.
If she told him to stop, he stopped.
With a gentle press on his shoulder, he sank into the soft sofa, guided by her touch.
The deep sofa cradled his exhausted body, yet he still clung tightly to her hand, refusing to let go even slightly.
Jiang Pei stood not far away, watching the scene before him. He opened his mouth, his voice carrying a barely detectable choke.
“Miss Ran…”
Ran Weiyi didn’t turn around, her gaze never leaving Ye Mochen.
“I need a first aid kit.”
“Also, clean warm water and a towel.”
“And bring a bottle of strong liquor for disinfection.”
Her voice was calm as she issued instructions one by one.
“Yes! I’ll prepare them right away!”
Jiang Pei almost jogged as he rushed toward the storage room, his movements swift and efficient.
In the living room, only the two of them remained.
Ran Weiyi lowered her gaze, using her free hand to touch his other hand, which hung limply.
His wrist was covered in red marks from struggling against metal shackles, some areas even broken and oozing tiny beads of blood.
How much force had he used in his struggle?
She couldn’t imagine.
Her fingertips lightly and slowly brushed the skin around the edge of the wounds.
Ye Mochen’s body stiffened again.
Not from pain.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, one of being treated with gentleness for the first time.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked.
Ye Mochen didn’t answer.
He simply stared at her with those pitch-black, bottomless eyes.
The eyes that had once burned with crimson flames were now as clear as obsidian washed by rain, clearly reflecting her worried expression.
After a long while.
He shook his head, extremely slowly.
The movement was stiff but unmistakably clear.
Ran Weiyi’s heart softened slightly at this gentle shake of his head.
She knew it wasn’t that he didn’t feel pain.
He just didn’t know how to express it.
Or perhaps he had forgotten how to express his pain to others.
Because no one would care.
Jiang Pei quickly returned with the first aid kit and warm water, carefully placing them on the coffee table in front of them before stepping back, lowering his head, not daring to disturb.
He understood better than anyone how strong Mo Chen’s territorial instincts were.
Especially in this state.
Ran Weiyi wrung out the warm towel, carefully and meticulously wiping away the blood and grime from his wrist.Her movements were gentle and slow, as if handling a precious treasure, afraid of breaking him.
Ye Mochen’s gaze slowly shifted from her face to her hands, which were wiping his wounds.
A warm sensation spread from his wrist, carrying the scent of medicine that brought him immense comfort.
That frenzied, destructive rage was completely soothed by such tenderness.
“This might hurt a bit.”
She changed the cotton swab, dipped it in the strong liquor Jiang Pei had brought, and a rich, mellow aroma instantly filled the air.
Ran Weiyi softly reminded him.
“Bear with it.”
She didn’t act immediately. Instead, she gently placed her other hand over his tightly clenched fist, using her own body warmth to soothe him.
“It won’t hurt for long,” she promised.
The cotton swab soaked in strong liquor finally touched the torn flesh.
A soft, sharp intake of breath.
Ye Mochen’s body tensed abruptly, the lines of his muscles becoming strikingly clear.
He didn’t utter a single cry of pain. He only gripped Ran Weiyi’s arm tighter and tighter.
He stared intently at her, as if only by looking at her could he withstand the overwhelming agony coursing through his body.
Ran Weiyi’s hands paused for only half a second.
She didn’t even glance at her arm, which was being squeezed painfully. Instead, she raised her eyes to look at his tense jaw.
Fine beads of cold sweat had formed on his temples, and his lips were pressed into a pale, straight line.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said, her voice even softer now, carrying a coaxing tone.
Jiang Pei, standing far away, pinched his thigh hard.
This wasn’t a dream!
Afraid? In pain?
My God!
Back when someone tried to assassinate Mo Chen, he was stabbed in the abdomen. When the doctor disinfected the wound with alcohol, he didn’t even blink, complaining that the doctor was too slow.
What was happening now?
Was he in so much pain that he had to grab Miss Ran’s arm?
No, that expression wasn’t right.
Jiang Pei scrutinized carefully. The way Mo Chen stared at Miss Ran seemed less like enduring excruciating pain and more like… pleading for her sympathy?
An absurd thought popped into Jiang Pei’s head.
This wasn’t about pain at all—this was Mo Chen acting spoiled!
“Let me blow on it. It won’t hurt after I blow on it.”
Without waiting to see if he understood, she leaned down and brought her face close to his bloodied wrist.
Warm breaths, one after another, gently brushed over the wound seared by the strong liquor.
The gesture was laughably childish.
Jiang Pei, not far away…
Blow… blow on it?
Was he seeing this right?
Mo Chen, who remained expressionless even when torturing others, actually… needed someone to blow on his wound?
If word got out, everyone in Shencheng would be shocked beyond belief!
Jiang Pei felt his worldview being repeatedly trampled on. Was the Mo Chen he saw today even real?
Ye Mochen’s tense muscles visibly relaxed, bit by bit.
The force with which he gripped her gradually eased, though he still didn’t let go, merely holding her arm loosely.
A complete, unreserved trust.
Ran Weiyi continued her work, applying the ointment evenly to every wound on his body. Every movement she made was executed with utmost focus.
Jiang Pei stood far away, his back ramrod straight.
He watched the man who had always regarded everyone as dust—even he himself couldn’t easily approach—now as docile as a tamed beast.He allowed the petite woman to tend to his most gruesome wounds in his most wretched moment.
Ye Mochen’s gaze remained fixed on her face.
The light from above cast a soft golden glow upon her delicate lashes.
In those always calm and unruffled eyes, the wounds on his wrist were now clearly reflected.
Only his wounds.
This realization gave his heart, barren for twenty-eight years, the first illusion of being filled.