On the Third-Month Peach Blossom Festival, those women have already dug a deep pit, just waiting for Serena Feng to jump in.
If Serena Feng falls for their tricks, she will truly be ruined, disgraced, and have no face left to live in this world.
He hadn’t intended to get involved in this matter; although Serena Feng saved him yesterday, she also violated his biggest taboo. The fact that he didn’t kill her was already a mercy.
But today is different. Serena Feng has truly saved his life, so of course he can’t just stand by and watch her fall into the fire pit.
He, Lance Quinn, is not someone who leaves debts unpaid.
"Serena Feng, I, Lance Quinn, don’t like owing favors—especially to women. The life-saving debt I owe you, I will personally repay." Lance Quinn silently vowed, then closed his eyes, no longer looking at Serena Feng but instead vigilantly observing the surroundings.
Serena Feng’s entire focus was on Lance Quinn’s injury. She had no idea that, in the blink of an eye, Lance Quinn had decided to take on whatever trouble she might face at the Peach Blossom Festival.
......
Lance Quinn’s wound hadn’t gotten infected, but it had completely split open. The catgut sutures were not only all snapped but also embedded deep into the flesh.
Serena Feng gritted her teeth, really wanting to just let this man fend for himself. But under Lance Quinn’s pressure, she obediently got to work, picking out the sutures one by one for him.
At Lance Quinn's request, Serena Feng did not administer anesthesia. She worked inside the bloody flesh, picking through it with precision, her hands steady despite the gruesome sight.
The sharp medical forceps poked at the wound, sometimes making a wet, squelching sound. Serena Feng knew exactly how much it hurt, but this black-clad, silver-masked man didn't even flinch, not a single line creasing his brow.
Once she'd cleared the broken sutures, Serena Feng carefully washed the wound, then prepared to cut away the necrotic flesh. One look told her these ruined tissues were from blunt force trauma, not just the arrow.
Lance Quinn said nothing, and Serena Feng had no intention of asking. Her professional ethics as a doctor didn't allow her to pry, especially into things she had no right to know.
"This might hurt a little. Try to bear it—whatever happens, don't move," Serena Feng warned, her teeth slightly clenched, betraying a hint of nerves.
As a doctor, she knew that in times of scarce medicine, skipping anesthesia was routine. But usually, doctors would distract the patient, and most patients would look away from the knife.
But this masked man?
He just stared straight at her, as though Serena Feng's scalpel wasn't even touching his flesh.
As for this man—
Serena Feng couldn't help but be awed; his pain tolerance was on a whole other level.