Mo Yinhe returned from outside. As soon as he pushed open the door to the suite, he saw Si Mingjing curled up on the living room couch, her hands cradling her lower abdomen and her brows tightly furrowed, looking as if she were ill.
Mo Yinhe strode over and placed his hand on her forehead. She didn't have a fever.
He asked softly, "What's wrong? Does your stomach hurt?"
"It's nothing."
Si Mingjing turned over, facing the back of the couch.
Not long after Ye Siyuan left, she felt a dull ache in her lower abdomen, coming in waves, like the sea crashing against her belly—sometimes intense, sometimes mild.
As a medical student, she obviously knew what this was about. But when it actually happened to her, Si Mingjing realized how hard it was to be a woman.
Mo Yinhe's concern made him flustered, and he gently turned her body towards him. "Mingjing, what's really wrong? Are you sick?"
Si Mingjing felt the pain growing more intense. If this continued, she really couldn't bear it.
