"What's wrong? Did you twist your ankle?"
Ji Huan brought the lantern closer to Song Jing, wanting to see if he was alright. Instead, she saw his pale lips and the beads of sweat covering his forehead.
"What on earth is wrong?" Ji Huan asked urgently.
Song Jing was still trying to act tough. "It's nothing, I just twisted it a little. I'm not hurt..."
As he spoke, he gritted his teeth and kicked his foot twice for Ji Huan to see.
As if Ji Huan would believe him. His condition didn't look like a sprained ankle at all; he was clearly forcing himself to endure something.
Recalling that he had grunted in pain when she'd grabbed his arm just a moment ago, Ji Huan seized that arm again and yanked up his sleeve. Her pupils instantly contracted.
The arm was covered in a crisscrossing network of red welts. Some had even broken the skin and were seeping blood. In the spaces between the welts were dark bruises, as if from a person's grip.
