The steward's large hands scrubbed across Nian Junting's chest with stiff, clumsy movements. Though he said nothing, his brows knitted into a tight line. The sponge scraped too roughly, and the water temperature wasn't quite right, it was lukewarm instead of warm.
It wasn't painful, but it was irritating. The contrast between this and Luosang's gentle touch made him restless. Her hands were soft, light, and efficient, like silk gliding across his skin. When she gave him sponge baths, her fingers moved with care, avoiding pressure on his chest where the bruising still lingered from the car accident. Even though his legs had recovered well enough, the slight soreness returned under the steward's heavy hands. He shifted with a quiet grunt of discomfort.
