Chen An hurriedly reached out to grab his arm, but Mo Nanjue lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot, and blood trickling down his forehead.
"Injured?" Chen An reached out to touch his head, but the man shook him off, his voice hoarse and deeply low, "Don't touch me."
"Do you think I want to touch you?" Knowing he had no strength at the moment, Chen An simply pressed down on his hand, parting his wet short hair to reveal a small wound, finally relieved, "It's alright, no big deal. Just disinfect it, and it'll be fine."
Mo Nanjue swallowed, pulled out his trapped legs, and unsteadily got out of the car. Chen An glanced over, the entire Bugatti Veyron was completely deformed from the crash, likely beyond repair.
Damn destruction of treasures...
Mo Nanjue stuck his hands in his pockets, the blood on his handsome face diluted by the rain, slightly stinging the wound, but the man didn't care. He walked to the smashed railing, stopping at the edge.
