The window drifted open slowly, cold moonlight poured in, and Jiang Yichun stood tall. Moonlight shone on him, adding an air of haziness and solitude.
His sharp eyes seemed to have lost some of their sparkle. Bai Ruozhu's heart thudded; he must have been injured.
As he leaped into the room, Bai Ruozhu rose and rushed over, whispering, "Are you injured?"
Jiang Yichun, seeing her so anxious, felt both sweet and a little bitter. He quickly grabbed a jacket and draped it around her, mildly rebuking her, "What kind of weather is this, and you're not wearing a padded jacket? You'll catch a cold."
As Bai Ruozhu put on the jacket, she continued to stare at him, "Don't evade the topic, where are you injured? I can even smell the blood."
He gave a bitter smile, "Your nose is surprisingly sharp. It's nothing, just a superficial wound. It doesn't need stitches; I've already bandaged it up."