Hearing the sound, Qiao Jing suddenly looked up.
Seeing Zhan Qipei regaining consciousness, she let out a sigh of relief.
"Remember, the last time you pulled… pulled down my trousers, it was during our… our first meeting."
There was a faint smile on Zhan Qipei's somewhat pale face, his speech intermittent and weak.
Upon hearing his words, memories flooded back into Qiao Jing's mind.
The images of that time began to superimpose bit by bit with the current scene.
The first time she met Zhan Qipei, he had suffered a gunshot wound to the upper thigh.
She had brought Zhan Qipei back home from the cornfield and performed surgery on him…
"That time, you pulled my…"
Zhan Qipei's weak voice pulled Qiao Jing's thoughts back from her memories.
Looking at the bloodless face of his, Qiao Jing frowned slightly and spoke helplessly, "You're in this state, yet you still talk so much."
"I need to remove the bullet from your wound now, so close your mouth. Don't talk. Save your energy."
