The charcoal fire crackled, warming the room.
Chen Ye leaned against the headboard, letting Zhiwei, with her small, tense face, clean his wounds.
In half a month, both Zhiwei and Qing Jun visibly recovered.
This greatly comforted Chen Ye — after all, he nurtured them himself!
In front of him, his eldest apprentice,
had her black, smooth hair covering her slender waist, her dark eyes peeking through her scattered bangs, focused and calm.
Her pale cheeks had gained some color, appearing slightly healthier.
Yet she still carried a sense of frailty, like a delicate flower bud in the wind.
Nevertheless, one could faintly glimpse her future elegance.
Suddenly, the young girl's long eyelashes trembled.
Her calm dark eyes tinted with a trace of fear and timidity.
Even her fingertips grasped the towel without daring to move.
Chen Ye closed his eyes, a complex emotion surging in his heart after hearing his apprentice's faint sigh of relief.
