Yan Song's thin lips slightly pursed, his gaze tightly fixated on Yun Ya's face.
"You poor soul, my dear Yun Ya, how much suffering have you endured?" Zhang Huasheng lifted his arm to take a glance at the knife wound, sighed deeply, and looked at the young girl's exceptionally pale face. "You still refuse to let yourself go..."
Smart people tend to make one mistake, thinking too clearly, thinking too much, it's easy to get stuck in a dead end; others' advice is useless, you must learn from bloody lessons to remember.
Zhang Huasheng swiftly stopped the bleeding and bandaged her wound, taking a moment to glance at the man standing behind her. This glance startled him, as the man's face was even paler than Yun Ya's, his brows furrowed, forehead drenched in cold sweat, thin lips tightly shut, seemingly enduring immense pain.
His tall body also seemed like it might collapse at any moment.
