Zhou Ting stared intently at her, from head to toe, then back again. She made no attempt to hide the surprise on her face. This woman was far from a great beauty!
Yan Xixi had a bandage wrapped around her head, with traces of dried blood faintly visible underneath. Her eyelids were slightly swollen, her face pale and sallow without any makeup, her hair disheveled. The clothes she wore, both in texture and style, were quite ordinary. Her overcoat, in particular, was crumpled and did nothing for her appearance. She just stood there silently with her head down. She looked as if she had been ill for a very, very long time—utterly exhausted and haggard.
Zhou Ting had intended to burst in with righteous indignation, parading her "official" status to confront the culprit. But to her surprise, this "mastermind" showed no signs of triumph; on the contrary, she looked like this. It was like a strongman throwing a punch, only to find it landing on a ball of cotton.
