Leng Yu Yan stared at him with wide eyes, her beautiful eyes gradually gathering mist—to the point of forming tears that soon rolled down her pale, fragrant cheeks.
She just looked at him, without sobbing or weeping, let alone speaking. Her rosy lips trembled slightly, making Ye Yiheng's heart wrench with pain as it nearly broke.
In the past, he knew her wrists would bruise with just a gentle pinch, but now he realized that was nothing.
He reached out tenderly to wipe her tears, his voice hoarse as he softly consoled, "Don't cry, I'll continue blowing it."
Saying this, he made a move to grab her hand.
Leng Yu Yan pulled her hand behind her back.
"Medicine is three parts poison, being pricked by a medicinal herb thorn hurts more than a needle. I'm not deceiving you, nor am I being delicate..."
What if she was being delicate?
She didn't want to admit it!
It was because he scolded her.
