Su Lu and Jing Qiao exchanged a glance and immediately walked into the hall.
Song Boyuan was facing away from them, and as they approached, they first saw Zhao Xiaole cradled in Song Boyuan's arms, his face smeared with blood.
Song Boyuan was reaching out to wipe the blood from Zhao Xiaole's face, but the smearing only made the crimson marks more pronounced.
Jing Qiao's body reacted even faster than her brain seemed to, instinctively pulling out kitchen paper from her apron pocket and stuffing it onto Song Boyuan's nose without a second thought.
"Uncle, are you okay?" Zhao Xiaole anxiously looked at Song Boyuan, his eyes filled with worry.
Song Boyuan still appeared indifferent and impassive, gently shaking his head.
He was holding Zhao Xiaole with one hand and lightly covered Jing Qiao's hand—clutching the tissue on his nose—with the other.
The nosebleed was severe; shortly, the tissue was soaked through.
