Lu Ying stretched out his hand, covering the wound on his left arm. His lowered eyelashes cast a long, slender shadow at the corners of his eyes.
The wounds had already scarred and healed long ago, but because he hadn't applied any medicine, the scars lingered on his skin.
He traced the texture of his skin, as if he were transported back to the days when he had to rely on poisonous insects to suppress his emotions. The old wounds on his left arm had not healed before new ones appeared, like the interminable drizzle of the plum rain season, endlessly lingering.
He murmured, "It doesn't matter anymore."
"But I want to know," Shen Yinning handed him a fragrant soap paste. "Lu Ying, what have you done to yourself?"
Lu Ying reached out to take it, but Shen Yinning wouldn't let go of her grip.
