The thief had probably been startled and hurried forward, intending to seize Su Qiao, but he failed.
Su Qiao had already been flung behind Ding Jihan.
The thief panicked. He wildly swung the knife in his hand, turned around, and fled.
He no longer cared whether he would get hurt and jumped straight off the second-floor balcony.
Ding Jihan immediately chased after him, but Su Qiao anxiously grabbed him. "Don't chase him. Are you trying to bleed yourself dry?"
"But..." Ding Jihan was reluctant to let the thief go. At the very least, they had to figure out whether he had come merely to steal something or whether he had been targeting one of them.
If the thief had been targeting him, he wasn't afraid. But if he had been targeting Su Qiao, then he had to kill him immediately.
"But what?"
Su Qiao glared at him fiercely.
"Are you stupid? Why did you throw yourself in front of me? It's not like you don't know how skilled I am."
Seeing the bright-red blood rapidly stain his white shirt, Su Qiao knew the wound was serious.
She pulled open his clothes and took a look. Sure enough.
Although the wound wasn't very deep, it was at least ten centimeters long.
She quickly helped him lie down on the sofa. With a turn of her wrist, Su Qiao took a long Silver Needle out of her space.
"I forgot, and your stomach is hurting right now."
Ding Jihan lay on the sofa. Although his abdomen hurt a little, he wasn't too worried.
For one thing, he had gotten used to it over the years. For another, seeing the urgency and concern in Su Qiao's eyes again made him feel that this injury had been completely worth it.
"It's fine. It's just