Chu Yao didn't move.
She didn't help him either.
The corners of her mouth slowly curled into an ambiguous smile.
It faded just as quickly.
After Mo Tingshen recovered from the pain, he looked up, sweat from his forehead dripping into his eyes. He closed his eyes to shake it off, then opened them again to look at Chu Yao. However, his dark pupils seemed to be blurred with a layer of watery light.
The lighting and her appeared somewhat shaky.
"Is that enough?" the man's hoarse voice asked.
Chu Yao leaned against the headboard, raised her hand, and held a length between her thumb and index finger. She looked at it, seemingly unsure, then measured it against his chest, near the knife handle, shortening the distance slightly.
"It seems... still not enough."
Mo Tingshen's gaze wavered as he stared at her hand.
After a while, "Fine."
He pushed the knife handle with his palm, driving it further in until it reached the distance she had estimated.
"Is that enough?"
