Jiang Xia stared into the mirror, his anxiety over his appearance taking hold. With one finger, he lifted a lock of hair and tried patting it down to the left. 'That doesn't look good.' He switched directions and patted it down to the right. It still didn't seem quite right.
An Ning, who was holding the mirror, suddenly pulled it away.
"Forget your hair. A newborn calf is in better shape than you are right now."
Jiang Xia's hands froze. He gave up on saving his hairstyle and slumped against the headboard, looking utterly hopeless.
An Ning set the mirror down on the table, pulled a chair over, and asked with a perfectly straight face, "So, this injury of yours—is this something we can treat out in the open, or does it need to be handled discreetly?"
An Ning's cautious phrasing almost made Jiang Xia laugh, but the moment the corners of his mouth twitched, the movement pulled at the cuts on his face.
"Hsss—are you trying to talk in code?"
"What? Am I not pulling it off?"
