Although Qiao Jing was wearing loose casual clothes, getting them off was a hassle due to her injured right arm.
Moreover, she couldn't just strip in front of a man, could she?
Just as Qiao Jing was feeling troubled, Zhan Qipei brought over a pair of scissors.
Knowing what the man was about to do, Qiao Jing voluntarily extended her right arm towards him.
Zhan Qipei, holding the scissors, cut through the fabric slowly and carefully.
As the material was gradually snipped away, the girl's snow-white skin and the crimson blood appeared before Zhan Qipei's eyes.
The man's lips were tightly pursed as he carefully tended to Qiao Jing's wound.
All the while, Qiao Jing kept her eyes on Zhan Qipei. Usually, she found him rather childish, always shamelessly flirting with her.
But at that moment, the man was utterly serious, treating the wound with the meticulousness of handling a national affair.
"It's done," Zhan Qipei said, looking up to meet Qiao Jing's gaze.