But looking at Chu Qingcheng's ghastly wound on her fair thigh, Zhu Bufan lost all interest in fantasizing.
He quickly carried Chu Qingcheng to the sofa, gently laying her down, "Wait for me..."
Zhu Bufan rushed to his room, fetched a strip of white cloth, found some alcohol, and with a stern face, commanded: "Lift your skirt..."
"Ah! You... what are you doing?"
Chu Qingcheng's face was filled with panic, her cheeks flushing red.
Swish...
Zhu Bufan didn't care about the rest; he lifted Chu Qingcheng's skirt, and suddenly, a stretch of fair, snow-white skin was revealed, causing him to lose his focus for a moment.
"You clumsy woman, hold up your skirt and avoid touching the wound to prevent infection..." Zhu Bufan instructed her, dipped a cotton swab in alcohol, and with a frown, said: "It might hurt a bit... endure it."
"Okay!"
