Ji Qingwu returned with a box she'd put together, filled with medicinal powders and ointments. She moved around behind him.
"Let's apply the medicine first."
When she got a clear look at the wound on his back, Ji Qingwu almost dropped the medicine box.
The scar ran diagonally from his shoulder down to his waist. It had already scabbed over, but after being soaked in water, it had started to turn red and swell again.
Zhao Mingyan said nonchalantly, "It's nothing. I've already applied medicine, and it was healing."
Ji Qingwu wanted to touch it with her fingers, but she frowned and pulled her hand back.
'No matter how powerful he was, he was still a man, not a god. He could get injured in battle, and he would certainly feel pain, yet he acted as if it were routine.'
During the days she spent waiting with the soldiers in the camp, only she knew how agonizing it was.
An increasingly intense emotion surged within Ji Qingwu, nearly overwhelming her.
She quickly lowered her head.
