What truly stirred Su Qiao's murderous intent were the reddish-brown scars beneath those crisscrossing red marks. They had clearly been left there a long time ago.
Judging by their color and how well they had healed, the injuries must have been quite severe. They definitely hadn't been caused by an ordinary leather whip.
What an unpleasant woman.
"Let go of me..."
Pinned to the ground by a girl and unable to move, Jiang Yihan struggled with all his might, both embarrassed and angry.
Su Qiao reached out and pressed down on his slender shoulder as she took out some ointment.
"Don't move. If you don't apply medicine, it might get infected. Once it does, you could develop a fever or even start festering. Then it'll be even more troublesome."
After struggling for quite a while and finding that he truly couldn't break free, Jiang Yihan lowered his head in humiliation and hugged his legs.
As if facing the wall and reflecting on his mistakes, he rested his forehead against the cold wall and stopped moving.
Su Qiao released the hand pressing down on his shoulder and devoted herself to applying the medicine.
The ointment had probably irritated his wounds, because his pale, slender back trembled.
A trace of heartache flashed through Su Qiao's eyes, and she softened her voice for once. "Does it hurt?"
"I'll be gentler. It'll be over soon. Hang in there."
"Whoo, whoo."
She bent down and gently blew on the wounds.
"Whoo, whoo, and it won't hurt anymore. When I got hurt as a child, my mom would blow on my wounds like this."
The warm breath caused the boy, who had been hanging his head in silence, to stiffen instantly.
Faint ripples stirred in his black eyes, which had been as still as stagnant water.