Yelu Yan's back was densely covered with knife wounds, arrow wounds, new wounds, and old ones, overlapping one another in a harrowing array.
The bulging muscles on his upright back and solid shoulders rarely bore unscarred skin.
"Does it look terrifying?"
Seeing that Li Xianyun remained silent, Yelu Yan grabbed his clothes to close them but was stopped by Li Xianyun clutching the hem of the garment.
"It's not terrifying."
Li Xianyun saw that he had stopped moving, then she took a bright green porcelain jar from the medicine box, opened the green lid, scooped up a little with her delicate index finger, and gently applied it to the bluish-red mark on Yelu Yan's back.
Yaduo had exerted a lot of force earlier, leaving a bruised and slightly swollen area where Yelu Yan was hit.
She pressed her index and middle fingers against his wheat-colored skin, blending the yellow ointment little by little.
Yelu Yan's body moved slightly.