Zhang Yue lay quietly on the slightly worn yet spotless bed. The early morning sunlight filtered through the thin paper of the window, casting a faint glow across his face that failed to mask his pale, pain-drawn features. His body remained weak; every slight movement tugged at his wounds, sending a piercing ache through him that caused his brow to furrow.
At that moment, Ziyan walked into the room with a light step, carrying a steaming bowl of medicinal soup. Dressed in a light purple gown, her graceful figure made her look like a fairy stepped down from a painting. Her gaze was filled with care and tenderness—a warmth capable of dispelling the coldest winter. She walked softly to the bedside, sat on the edge, and said softly, "Zhang Yue, it's time for your medicine." Her voice was like a clear, sweet spring in the mountains, tinged with a hint of pity.
Zhang Yue slowly opened his eyes and looked at Ziyan. The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint, weak smile. "Thank you for the trouble, Lady Ziyan."
Chapter 72