Chapter 1942

Mo Shanghua raised her hand and touched the wound on her cheek. Looking at the scarlet color on her fingertips, she didn't touch her face too much. "Pingji's nails are usually well maintained, and she often uses Dankou to dye her fingers, so it's not easy to heal the wound naturally."

"But you just don't have to worry. I'm a doctor myself. How can I hurt myself?" With that, she went around Yan Beicheng, took out a wooden box from the small table at the head of the bed, took out two small porcelain boxes, and sat down in front of the dressing mirror.

In one of the porcelain boxes, she made a "disinfectant cotton" with cotton wadding and purified spirits. A small wooden tweezers was also stored in the box. She took a piece of "disinfectant cotton" out of the tweezers and wiped the wound quietly against the blurred bronze mirror.

This bronze mirror is not as clear as the current mercury mirror. It can only barely see a fuzzy figure. Therefore, she wiped it with a little effort, and she accidentally painted it in the wrong place several times.

When Yan Beicheng saw this, he took the forceps in her hand and was about to help her wipe the wound. The strong smell of wine at the tip of his nose made him move. He could not help but put his strange "cotton wadding" to the tip of his nose and sniffed it. The original strong smell of wine suddenly became more and more pungent.

Although he was strange in his heart, when he smelled the pungent taste of wine, his eyebrows suddenly frowned deeply, and his hands also stopped, "did you soak it with strong liquor? If you use this, isn't it extremely painful? "

But just now, he saw that she did not say a word, as if the whole body of meat is not her own.

"Such a shallow wound, where can it hurt?" Mo Shanghua gently shakes his head. Seeing his ink, he raises his hand to take back the tweezers and wipe it by himself.

Yan North City big hand toward the side to hide, then easily evaded her hand, "no, you are so cruel to yourself, or this king to help you."

After a pause, he seemed to think of something. He fixed his eyes on the flower's delicate cheek. "If it hurts, just shout it out. No one will laugh at you."

Shout it out?

The flower on the street is slightly stunned. She has long been used to the days when she has all the pain to resist. When did she cry out because of this little injury? Once upon a time, others would only let her endure. No one would ever say that to herself.

Thinking of this, her deep and calm eyes can't help rolling up. Her eyes can't help sticking to Yan Beicheng who is helping him clean up the wound, and her heart seems to be beating up with great concentration.

"Does it hurt?"

She left God, until Yan Beicheng put down the tweezers in his hand, asked softly, she was in a trance, busy drooping her eyes, wanted to shake her head to show no pain, but thought about it, or gently nodded, "there is some pain."

"That's right. The pain has to be said." Yan Beicheng nodded with satisfaction, picked up another porcelain box, opened it, looked at the paste inside, and said, "is this the way to smear the wound?"

Mo Shanghua hasn't recovered from the palpitation of just now, so she only slightly lowers her jaw, droops her eyes, and doesn't know what she is thinking.

Yan Beicheng gently drew the ointment with his fingertips and gently smeared it on his careful cheek, just like a craftsman who was carefully carving. He was afraid that if he used more effort, his pain would be aggravated.

A man who is usually injured is just bandaged at will and doesn't pay much attention to her. Now, he is so careful and solemn to her. How can he not let the stranger be moved?

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