The wound from the scrape on her arm caught Xiang Yimo's eyes as he frowned slightly, revealing a trace of desolation in his gaze.
Xiang Yimo suddenly stood up and took a pair of scissors from the gardening toolbox on the terrace.
"Xiang Yimo, what are you doing!" Zhong Lingling had barely finished speaking.
Xiang Yimo had already sliced his own left hand with the scissors, and in an instant, blood spilled out. Zhong Lingling could see clearly; Xiang Yimo was bleeding profusely, just like any normal person would when cut, which frightened her so much that she sprang to her feet.
She was at a loss. "Xiang Yimo, you must be crazy!"
Zhong Lingling tore downstairs without looking back!
Where's the medicine box! Where did I put it!
She ran breathlessly to the first floor, found the medicine box, and, without taking a moment to catch her breath, hurried back to the third-floor terrace with the box containing hemostasis and anti-inflammatory medicines.