The instant the gauze came off, Xu Que's body was completely bare, with only a layer of sticky ointment clinging to it.
"You're still badly injured. The doctor said you can't stop taking the medicine for a month. Why did you unwrap it yourself...?"
Xiao Rou's reproachful voice came from outside the door, but she no longer dared to come in.
Xu Que hurriedly grabbed the patch-riddled quilt from the bed and wrapped it around himself. After a dry cough, he said, "Xiao Rou, I'm fine. They're only superficial wounds, really. There's nothing serious anymore. Could you find me some clothes?"
After a moment of silence, Xiao Rou finally answered from outside, "...Wait there!"
Then he heard her hurried footsteps fading away.
Xu Que grinned and sat back down on the bed to wait for Xiao Rou to bring his clothes. But the medicinal smell on his body was so pungent that he couldn't help frowning.
Yet after waiting and waiting, more than ten minutes passed, and Xiao Rou still had not returned.
Xu Que began to panic. Could Xiao Rou have thought he was being a hooligan and run off to call people to arrest him? Damn it, that would be one hell of a misunderstanding!
He hurriedly tightened the quilt around himself, jumped out of bed, ran to the door, and quietly pulled open a narrow crack.
Judging from the scene outside, he was clearly in a poor little village. Across from him stood several equally crude, dilapidated huts. The streets were all yellow sand and dirt, with no stone paving, so dust rose easily.
Still, the place had a charm of its own. Though somewhat backward, it was close to nature, peaceful and pleasant—a fine place to retire.
But at this moment, the village was strangely quiet.