The rain had soaked Zhuang Xian's clothes. The wound on her left arm was tightly bandaged. The bright red stung Mo Qian's eyes.
He let out a deep sigh. His heart ached, but he also felt a little helpless.
Zhuang Xian's left hand had been through a lot recently. She had dislocated it during military training not long ago, and today, she was shot.
When Mo Qian looked at Zhuang Xian in silence, Mo Ye noticed that he was acting strangely.
Mo Ye put down her hand protecting her head and looked at Zhuang Xian.
She looked at the woman, then at her brother, who seemed haunted by something. She gently patted Mo Qian's leg and squatted on the ground. She looked up at Mo Qian's side profile and asked softly, "What are you looking at? Is the female captain really that good-looking? Where do you put our Zhuang Xian?"
