Calligraphy, Lance’s Embarrassing Night

"What are you staring for? Hurry up and take off your pants." Serena Feng waited a long time without seeing Lance Quinn move, so she pressed him again.

Uh... Lance silently stared. He’d always known Serena Feng was tough—being a doctor, she cared less about the gender divide than most women—but he’d never imagined she could be this blunt.

A man and a woman alone in a room, and then she tells him to take off his pants—does she not realize how easily people could misunderstand this?

Because of Serena’s words, and his own body’s reaction, Lance—normally sharp, decisive, and bold—just froze on the spot, not making a sound, his body a little stiff.

"What’s wrong? Does the wound hurt?" Serena was getting impatient. Her eyes swept over him, guessing maybe Lance was too injured to move himself. She tossed aside the blood-soaked cloth in her hands, bent down, and started to undo his pants herself.

Honestly, even the nurse’s job falls to me.

Serena lowered her head to study the knot in his belt. It took a while to untie. All she cared about was getting the pants down to treat the wound, so she didn’t notice how unusually cooperative Lance was—nor did she see the face under his mask, flushed so red it could bleed.

Serena didn’t need to take his pants all the way off—just down to where the wound was. Midway, she supported Lance’s back, signaling him to move a bit, and he cooperated more than usual. By the time he realized what was happening, his pants had been pushed down to the crucial part of his lower body; any further and everything that shouldn’t be exposed would be.

For the first time, Lance felt that bandaging a wound was truly exhausting—because the injury was so close to his privates, Serena’s wrist inevitably brushed against him, and... Lance found himself reacting in a very unspiritual way.

Boom...

Lance was mortified, wishing he could just pull up his pants and leave, but Serena didn’t react at all—she didn’t even notice his awkwardness, just focused intently on dressing his wound.

First, Serena used hot water to clean the blood around his wound, leaving only the jagged cut. Then she took a thin needle from her kit and jabbed it into him.

After that shot, Serena cleaned and stitched the wound. Lance didn’t feel any pain—the needle kept darting in and out of his skin, and all he felt was a tingling numbness, like ants biting. Soon, his heart felt the same way, itchy and restless, and he had a sudden urge to pin Serena down...

Lance quietly sighed, trying to calm himself down.

Because Serena was so focused, Lance’s attention shifted too. Staring at her beautiful profile, he found he couldn’t look away.

He loved watching Serena treat patients—cold, precise, but with a hidden compassion she probably didn’t even notice herself.

He could never get tired of seeing this side of Serena.

But the longer he watched, the more Lance realized he was in trouble.

Once Serena finished stitching, she stood to get ointment and bandages from her surgical kit. As she withdrew her hand, she brushed right against Lance’s full erection.

The unusual heat made Serena pause for a moment. Once she understood what was happening, she calmly withdrew her hand: "Sorry, accident."

Very impressive!

Serena glanced over calmly, then turned away as if nothing had happened.

Boom... Lance felt like his blood was rushing in reverse. The flush on his face had barely faded before it came roaring back, even stronger than before. No matter how he tried to control his breathing or calm himself, it was hopeless—his breath only grew more ragged.

Serena grabbed the medicine and quickly applied ointment and bandages to Lance, never considering he might be embarrassed. After all, she was a doctor—patients have no privacy in front of her. Besides, Lance hadn’t actually exposed anything; if he had, she’d be the one blushing.

"You’ve got things to do tomorrow, so I’m wrapping a few extra layers for you. Be careful and try not to touch the wound. If it splits open, it’ll be a real problem." Serena helped Lance sit up, picked up a long bandage, and began winding it around his waist, layer after layer.

Lance’s waist was lean and strong—just the right size for a woman’s hands to encircle. His future wife would be lucky, Serena thought in a brief moment of distraction.

As for Lance’s still-standing little brother, Serena simply ignored it. Sorry, but her attention was entirely on the wound. Even if she saw it, so what? She wasn’t a urologist; it wasn’t her job to handle that.

To keep the wound from splitting, Serena wrapped a few extra layers around his hips, making sure everything was secure before tying a knot and cutting off the excess bandage.

"All done. Stand up—I’ll help you put your pants back on." Serena treated Lance like a helpless patient, not a man at all.

Lance wanted to say, 'It’s not my hands that are injured, I can dress myself,' but...

Privately, he still preferred Serena’s care. The wound felt much better than he’d expected after her bandaging, so Lance stood up decisively to let her help with his pants—only to...

With a loud "plop," his pants—pushed down to his hips—fell straight to the floor once nobody was holding them. Lance, in all his glory, was left standing before Serena in nothing but his underwear, his legs bare.

That look...

Lance’s face instantly darkened, his eyes cold as ice water, glaring at Serena with all the chill he could muster. Too bad Serena wasn’t scared of him at all.

Hahaha... If Lance’s aura weren’t so frigid, and if this weren’t the wrong place and time, Serena would have burst out laughing.

It was just too funny.

A top swordsman, always leaping rooftops and walking walls, and now Lance the Great Hero had made a fool of himself—Serena was dying of amusement. Even if she didn’t sleep a wink tonight, it’d be worth it.

Serena stifled her laughter as she bent to pick up Lance’s pants.

"If you want to laugh, just laugh. Don’t hold it in and hurt yourself." Lance was annoyed and frustrated.

There goes my dignity!

"Ahem..." Serena coughed twice, reminding herself to stay serious.

"Sorry, that was a work error." Serena’s voice was all business, not the least bit apologetic. Lance turned away, not bothering to argue.

He really shouldn’t have gone out tonight—nothing had gone right. Next time, he’d definitely beat up Storm Cloud Bu. Just thinking about everything that happened made Lance frustrated; he’d made a total mess of himself in front of Serena.

Serena had no idea about Lance’s tangled feelings. She helped him pull up his pants and ignored his body’s reaction, calmly fastening his belt. Seeing the big tear in the fabric, she thought for a moment, then grabbed her surgical needle and thread. In a few quick stitches, the pants were patched.

A surgeon is great at stitching skin, so sewing clothes comes out neat too—as long as you ignore the shape of the pants.

Serena sewed the pants just like she stitched wounds—she didn’t patch the missing part, just pulled the sides together. But cloth isn’t skin; it doesn’t stretch. So, naturally, Lance ended up with pants that were high on the left, low on the right, tight here, loose there—ridiculously awkward.

When Lance returned to the secret room at Sutton Manor wearing Serena’s handiwork, Vincent Su’s jaw nearly hit the floor. The always-dignified Lance, out in public with pants like that? Wasn’t he worried about losing face?

Of course Lance minded his dignity, but Serena hadn’t given him a chance to object—the pants were sewn right onto him. As soon as she finished, she went off to wash her hands, then brought over the medicine and chicken soup Mira had prepared.

"Drink some chicken soup. You need to recover your strength." Normally, Lance’s wound would require IV antibiotics, but he had things to do tomorrow, so Serena couldn’t use full anesthesia. Instead, she gave him the best anti-inflammatory medicine, ointment, and even prepared fever reducers in advance, reminding him to take them if his temperature spiked.

Once Lance finished his soup, Serena packed up her surgical kit. As for the blood and mess, she didn’t worry—Jada and Mira would handle it later.

"Lance, my maids will come by to collect everything in half an hour." With that, Serena picked up her medicine kit and left, taking Jada and Mira with her. She told them to come back and clean up in half an hour.

Lance didn’t say much—Serena had thought of everything. Half an hour was plenty of time for him to rest.

Serena didn’t waste her own half hour, either. After performing surgery, she was covered in the scent of medicine and blood—she needed a bath.

In the middle of the night, she decided to bathe, not caring about her servants’ schedules. She had Jada and Mira wake up the kitchen staff to boil water for her bath.

Meals served, clothes handed over, any command obeyed—Serena had fully embraced her privileged life, never thinking twice about waking people up in the middle of the night.

She was the mistress of the house; that was her right.

Jada and Mira didn’t see anything wrong with it, either. Serena was their mistress—if she wanted hot water at midnight, or even a meal, the kitchen would have to oblige.

Twenty minutes later, Jada and Mira brought Serena hot water. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the manor was already bustling. After her bath, Serena went straight to sleep; the rest was left to Jada and Mira.

That’s the difference between mistress and servant.

Maybe it was exhaustion, but Serena slept soundly all night. In the morning, the three of them tacitly avoided mentioning what had happened. Serena grabbed an orange dress and, escorted by guards, headed off to the Royal Academy.

On the third day, she competed in calligraphy against Su Wan. The contest was, as always, held at the Royal Academy—and, as expected, there would be no shortage of onlookers...