"Of course not, teacher. Please have a good rest." She smiled and backed away.
Only a bedside lamp remained in the room. Ruan Ying sat up straight, her back stiff, listening to the sound of the door opening and closing.
She kept her posture elegant, even when no one was watching.
But the palm she tightly clenched already seeped with traces of blood.
Someone approached silently, sighed softly, and held Ruan Ying's injured hand in his palm.
"Don't treat your body like this; it pains me." The man murmured softly, like the most intimate lover.
Ruan Ying looked at him, her gaze gradually turning cold. She ignored the injury on her palm, single-handedly gripping the man's neck. In an instant, the snow-white neck showed red marks. However, she was a feeble female, and the man merely choked twice, his face flushed from lack of oxygen.
"Ruan Ying, what is it? Did I do something wrong?" he asked doubtfully.
