Yan Ye tightly closed his eyes, doing his utmost to suppress the sudden surge of restlessness in his heart.  

The sensation was less like pain and more like an indescribable itch. The warm breath blowing over his wound felt like the gentle brush of a feather—tingling, numbing, carrying an unintentionally provocative allure.  

His dark eyes were now so deep they were almost terrifying. The muscles in his arms were taut, his entire body rigid to the point of feeling unyielding to the touch.  

“It’s fine. Keep going.”  

His hoarse voice sounded by Xu Xiaoyue’s ear, and she tilted her head slightly to avoid the warm breath.  

“Then… then I’ll bandage you now. I’ll be gentle,” Xu Xiaoyue said as she picked up a roll of gauze from the tray beside her and began wrapping it carefully around the man’s arm, layer after layer.  

“Is it too tight?” Her round almond-shaped eyes looked up at him, clear and devoid of any hint of desire.  

Yan Ye’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, and a soft sound escaped his thin lips. “No.”  

It was supposed to be a completely proper wound-dressing process, yet Xu Xiaoyue couldn’t help the blush that crept onto her cheeks.  

Secretly, she thought the man’s breathing sounded rather nice.  

Trying to maintain her composure, Xu Xiaoyue tied a neat little bow on Yan Ye’s arm.  

“There, all done. Not bad, right?”  

She raised her hands, looking relieved, and admired her handiwork with satisfaction.  

But more eye-catching than the bow was the man’s upper body, exuding raw masculinity. While bandaging him, she had already noticed the firm muscles in his arms and his scorching body heat, as if it might burn her palms.  

He sat there shirtless, the bow on his arm almost comical in contrast, reminding Xu Xiaoyue inexplicably of a saying: In the heart of a tiger, a delicate sniff of roses.

Aside from the wound on his arm, there were also faint scars on his back—so pale they were almost invisible unless one looked closely.  

Xu Xiaoyue’s gaze lingered subtly on the man. In the novel, he had been scarcely described. She only knew that later, he would become a man of immense power.  

But thinking about it now, perhaps it was precisely these scars that had bought him that power.  

Xu Xiaoyue was someone who easily felt guilt. In all her life, she had never even dared to kill a chicken.  

If Yan Ye hadn’t protected her today, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.  

“What’s wrong?” Sensing the sudden shift in her mood, Yan Ye frowned slightly.  

He thought for a moment, then pursed his lips and pulled his clothes on directly with his hand. “Are they ugly?”  

“Huh?” Xu Xiaoyue didn’t understand and turned to him in confusion.  

“The scars. Are they ugly?”  

“No, no,” she quickly waved her hands to explain. “It’s not because of the scars. It has nothing to do with them.”  

“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me,” Xu Xiaoyue murmured, lowering her head, her eyelashes slightly damp.  

Yan Ye looked at her bowed head, his heart softening. He reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.  

“Don’t cry. It’s really not a big deal.”  

“That day when I said I hated you… I was lying. I’m sorry.”  

The more indifferent he acted, the heavier the guilt weighed on Xu Xiaoyue’s heart. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she bit her lip, her voice carrying a slight nasal tone from crying, almost like a whimper.  

She felt terrible—taking advantage of this man’s kindness, she had recklessly said such hurtful things.  

Yan Ye watched her, a trace of discomfort flickering in his eyes. Truthfully, he had stopped blaming her long ago.

Even when angry, he would just silently stay by himself, thinking of not disturbing her.

“Are you mad at me?” Seeing the man remain silent, Xu Xiaoyue asked timidly.  

“I am, but not because of this.” Yan Ye’s tone was indifferent, but his expression darkened as if recalling something, his dark eyes fixed intently on her fair, delicate face.  

Xu Xiaoyue grew flustered under his gaze, her voice shrinking even smaller. “Then… then why?”  

The man turned his head slightly, trying not to look at her innocent expression as he lectured her sternly, “Back at the restaurant, you acted so impulsively—did you ever stop to think how dangerous that was for you? What if there hadn’t been so many people around? What if that lunatic had gone after you?”  

“But… he was trying to grab me,” Xu Xiaoyue weakly argued.  

“Next time something like this happens, run to a crowded place. A barefoot man fears no shoes—the only thing you can do is avoid them.” Though his tone was severe, the concern beneath it was unmistakable.  

Xu Xiaoyue bit her lip. She knew she had acted recklessly this time, so she could only nod obediently under his scolding. “I understand. I won’t do it again.”  

Seeing her pitiful expression, most of Yan Ye’s anger dissipated. “Let’s go.”  

Xu Xiaoyue assumed he was taking her to the police station, but when the car took a different route, she belatedly grew confused.  

“Isn’t this the way back to the restaurant?” She turned to the man, her voice laced with bewilderment.  

Yan Ye raised an eyebrow. “Did I say we weren’t going back?”  

“But… but the officers at the station are still waiting for us.”  

The man let out a derisive chuckle, as if he’d heard something amusing. “Let them wait.”  

The instigator and the restaurant manager had already been taken away. Even if Chief Li was slow, he should have figured out who had started the trouble by now.  

Xu Xiaoyue had initially thought this wasn’t right, but then it occurred to her—letting that so-called “Scarface” suffer a little longer wasn’t a bad idea. It would serve as a good way to sober him up.  

…

At the police station, Scarface roared at the top of his lungs, “I want to see my uncle! I demand to speak to Zhang Dehua!”  

Drunk out of his mind, he felt he had done nothing wrong—he had only flirted with a woman, and he hadn’t even laid a hand on her before getting beaten up.  

And now, he’d been dragged to the station. He wailed dramatically at the ceiling, convinced that life had dealt him an unjust hand.  

Chief Li had long since gotten the full story from the restaurant manager. Seeing this hooligan still shouting, he smacked the back of Scarface’s head in annoyance.  

“Can’t tell what kind of mess you’re in, kid? Keep yelling, and I’ll drag Zhang Dehua here to keep you company. Let’s see how he educated you.”  

This time, Chief Li didn’t hold back—the hit was hard enough to half-sober the man up. After a moment of thought, Scarface suddenly shouted in agreement, “Yes! Bring Zhang Dehua here to keep me company!”  

The subordinates nearby were too embarrassed to know where to look. There really was a Zhang Dehua in the station—a usually quiet, law-abiding officer. Who would’ve thought he had ties to a street thug?  

Chief Li massaged his temples and sighed. “Find something to gag him. We’ll take his statement once he sobers up.”  

After searching for a while and failing to find even a scrap of cloth, they had no choice but to take off Scarface’s socks and stuff them into his mouth.