Frozen in absolute shock, his eyes were wide as saucers, staring intently at his wound.
The spot where there should have been a ghastly, gaping wound was now as smooth as ever, completely unscathed.
It was as if an invisible, skilled hand had utterly erased all traces of the injury, leaving not a single flaw.
Zheng Xuezhen, frantic with worry, rummaged through her bag and finally pulled out a wet wipe.
Her hand trembled slightly with nervousness.
She gently pressed the wipe against Zheng Bolan's blood-soaked waist and slowly began to clean it.
As the wipe moved, the unbelievable sight became even clearer.
Her brother's wound had truly vanished without a trace. It was like something out of a fairy tale, completely shattering her understanding of reality.
At the same time, Zheng Bolan's face, which had been as pale as paper from blood loss,
gradually regained its color, like a withered flower absorbing nutrients and reviving with vibrant life.
