She withdrew one, Yan Xiaye rolled up her sleeves, her expression calm as she finished the injection.
It had been over three months since the kidnapping incident, yet her sense of taste still hadn't returned.
Supporting her somewhat dizzy forehead, Yan Xiaye sat down by the bed, finding it odd that this medication seemed much more aggressive than usual, provoking the painful memories in her mind that she didn't want to recall—far from the usual mildness.
Lying uneasily on the bed, she gazed at the familiar ceiling above her.
The initial treatment period had been exceptionally difficult. To avoid appearing like a madwoman, she had sat idle here every day. Over time, she grew familiar with every groove and pattern on the ceiling.
During those times, Li Beicheng had been busy being in love with Yan Shuirou, not caring at all about the immense willpower she had mustered to keep surviving in such a hopeless situation.