Mu Qingyi's hand was on hers instantly. Hu Baiyu leaned forward so fast his knee hit the stone board. Feng Yiren's ears shot straight up and he cursed the needle like it had attacked her with intent.
Lin Huahua pulled her hand back and glared at all of them. "I am not made of paper."
"You are bleeding," Feng Yiren said, eyes fixed on the tiny red dot on her finger.
"It is one dot."
"It is blood."
"It is a dot."
Hu Baiyu looked genuinely distressed. He reached for her hand again, and this time Lin Huahua let him take it because his face looked too pitiful to refuse. He held her small finger carefully between his large, warm hands, looking at the tiny red prick with the seriousness of a healer examining a deadly wound.
Lin Huahua was just about to tell him he was exaggerating again when Hu Baiyu lowered his head.
Before she could pull back, his warm tongue lightly swept over the tiny red dot on her fingertip.
Lin Huahua froze completely.
