By the time Mo Yuxin's suitcases were carried downstairs, the scrape on Mao Mao's knee had been cleaned and covered.
He sat on the edge of the bed with his injured leg stretched out, watching Jua put the remaining gauze back into the first-aid box. The disinfectant had stung, and he had complained about it quite a bit. Now that Jua was finished, however, he seemed reluctant to let him close the box.
"Does it still hurt?" Jua asked.
"A little."
"You said that before I touched it."
"It hurt then too."
Jua glanced at him. Mao Mao looked back with such a serious expression that he couldn't quite bring himself to argue.
Near the doorway, Ying Rui stood listening to the butler's quiet report. Everything Mo Yuxin needed for the night had been packed. The rest of her belongings would be sorted out later.
"Have the car brought around," he said.
Mo Yuxin, who had been standing beside the dressing table, lifted her head.
"Rui."
He didn't turn.
