After settling Jiang Li in the car, Zhao Lang fetched the medical kit from the trunk.
The car door was open, and he crouched down cautiously, applying disinfectant alcohol to Jiang Li's wound.
From this angle, Jiang Li could just see the top of his head.
His hair swayed slightly under the moonlight, turning as white as snow.
It fell gently like feathers into the bottom of her gaze.
It felt a bit ticklish.
Jiang Li swallowed, her arm instinctively tensing a bit.
Zhao Lang looked up at her.
"What's wrong? Does it hurt?"
Jiang Li parted her lips slightly.
"Um... no, I was just thinking..."
"About what?"
Jiang Li recalled the scene of being besieged by reporters earlier.
"I was thinking about whether what we're doing counts as being ambiguous."
Zhao Lang seemingly didn't expect her to say something like this and froze for a moment.
"You... what do you mean?"
"I don't mean anything, just that you indeed are quite nice."
