At this time, in Ye Liangyan's room.
Her fingers gently applied ointment to the slight swelling on Lin Qingyuan's face. This ointment was the same one she had used at the hospital after being beaten last time; she had kept it in her backpack ever since.
The handprints on her delicate, fair skin were especially apparent, suggesting that Ye Licheng had not held back at all when he struck her.
A hint of coldness briefly flickered in Ye Liangyan's indifferent eyes, but her fingers grew ever more tender and deft.
Lin Qingyuan sat on a stool, her gaze gentle and affectionate as she looked at her daughter.
In the blink of an eye, her daughter was already in her twenties, grown into a slender and graceful young woman. Yet, she sometimes felt as if her daughter was still very little, adorable and sweet in her arms.
Finally, Ye Liangyan finished applying the ointment and stood up to wash her hands.