He shot Lu Xiaoyou a sidelong glance, expression brazen and unruly; in this half year, his features had grown even sharper, even more feral.
Lu Xiaoyou lowered her head, her gaze skimming over his feet.
Nothing but wounds.
His calves were covered in scars, his thighs marked all over as well, strangulation marks, or holes of all sizes punched through by tools like nails, like needles.
The toes and soles are the easiest parts of the body to deform; his toes were crisscrossed with scars.
Lu Xiaoyou reached out, the pad of her finger tracing along the wounds on his toes, stroking all the way.
"How did you get these?" Her eyes, misted with steam, lashes lowered, let a gentle, tender gaze fall on the deepest, largest wound at Long Xiliang's shoulder.
Lu Xiaoyou's fingertip lightly covered the surface of that wound; the wound was thicker than her finger.
Long Xiliang turned his face aside. "A scrape."
