"Bang—" Zhan Qipei landed on his butt first, nearly shattering.
"Ummh—" Zhan Qipei propped himself up from the ground, clutching his waist, "You woman, truly bite the hand that feeds you!"
"I bite the hand that feeds me? Clearly, the one doing that is you," Qiao Jing retorted.
"Me?" Zhan Qipei pointed at himself, "I bite the hand that feeds you? Yesterday when you had a fever, I was the one who fed you medicine, I took care of you."
Regarding what happened last night, Qiao Jing's memory was a bit fuzzy. After hearing what the man said, she raised her hand to touch her neck and felt the sweat that hadn't dried. Her gaze then shifted, falling on the medicine bottle and teacup on the bedside table.
It seemed he indeed hadn't lied.
"You took care of me, and I thank you for that. But I don't understand, why did you end up in my bed?"