Shen Nianzu stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze, feeling like his head was about to split apart from the sharp, drilling pain.
The bloody mark was still there. He dared not touch it carelessly. Instead, he simply grabbed the showerhead and sprayed the mirror in a frantic attempt to wash it away, but his clumsy attempt only made things worse— the streaks of red now splattered across the tiles, the sink, and even the floor, turning the pristine bathroom into something that resembled a crime scene.
Looking at the mess, Shen Nianzu decisively and tiredly decided to let Qing Mo and the housekeeper deal with it tomorrow. He was, after all, a young master who had been pampered since birth. Adding to his frail body, when had he ever personally taken part in household chores?
It could be said that his survival skill was a solid zero.
Without his parents and Qing Mo taking care of his daily needs, he would have dropped dead somewhere unknown.
