The next second, after grabbing the other person's neck, Qing Muye immediately let go, "A Wei?"
Despite the pitch-black night, he could accurately guess her identity by the scent of Meng Jingwei on her.
"Mmm... are you trying to murder your own wife?"
Meng Jingwei rubbed her neck, feeling like she couldn't breathe from the force of his grip.
Before she could finish speaking, Qing Muye pulled her into a tight embrace, "How did you get here?"
The man, disregarding the pain of his wounds, simply wanted to hold the woman he had longed for day and night.
Sensing his concern and affection, Meng Jingwei's red lips curved into a smile, filling her with happiness and warmth.
Her slender fingers gently patted Qing Muye's back, as if coaxing a child, and she said softly, "You're still injured, be careful."
"Hold me a little longer."
Qing Muye was a bit greedy, reluctant to let go. Meng Jingwei didn't move either, allowing him to hold her like that.
A few seconds later, the man released her and leaned down to kiss her lips.
But as soon as he touched Meng Jingwei, she pushed him away. "You haven't shaved in days, it's pricking me," she said with a smile.
Though her words were playful, her heart ached as if cut by a knife.
She knew that during the days she was missing, Qing Muye must have lost sleep, eaten without appetite, been dejected, and worried incessantly.
Meng Jingwei raised her hand and cupped his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his beard.
The newly grown stubble was rough and pricked her fingers.
In the darkness, they couldn't see each other, but they could feel the happiness radiating from each other's smiles.
Meng Jingwei cupped his face with both hands and gently kissed his lips before immediately releasing him. "You're still injured, sit up and rest properly."
She stood up, turned on the light in the ward, and drew the heavy curtains.
Looking at Qing Muye's pale and haggard face, her heart felt heavy.
She walked to his bedside and sat down, taking his hand and holding it tightly. Her gaze fell on his wound.
Her delicate fingers lightly touched the gauze on his wound. "Does it hurt a lot?"
Her beautiful eyes, filled with tenderness, gazed at Qing Muye. Illuminated by the light, her thick, curled eyelashes cast a shadow beneath her eyes, making her delicate face even more captivating.
Qing Muye clasped her hand back and placed it on his heart. "Here, it hurts the most."
"What's wrong, is your heart uncomfortable? Internal injuries?"
His heart was on the right side, but his exposed strong muscles showed no signs of injury. Hearing his words, Meng Jingwei assumed Qing Muye's heart was uncomfortable due to internal injuries.
"It hurts from missing you."
A smile bloomed on his pale lips. His sword-like brows and star-like eyes had lost their usual coldness, replaced by a thousand shades of tenderness.
His gaze was fixed on Meng Jingwei, filled with deep affection, as if he feared she would leave at any moment if he looked away.
Meng Jingwei couldn't help but chuckle. "I never realized you were so sweet-talked before."
"I'm just speaking my heart."
"Mmm, I missed you too."
Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, devoid of any trace of jest, Meng Jingwei also became serious.
As she spoke, she got up and went to the bathroom.
A few seconds later, she emerged from the bathroom, holding a box.
She sat back on the bedside, propped her right leg on the bed, opened the box, and took out a shaver. "Lean back, I'll shave you."
Qing Muye grasped her hand holding the shaver, his brows furrowed slightly. "Is my beard very ugly?"
"You're very handsome."
"Then you...?"
He was puzzled.
"It's so I don't get pricked when we kiss," she replied playfully, then said to him, "Sit still, I'll shave you."
Qing Muye sat like an obedient student, leaning against the headrest, motionless.