The engagement was with the younger brother, but I've fallen for the older brother.

Si Yimian lifted her face from his embrace and nodded.

"Ugh, that hurt! They even snatched my phone and smashed it."

She paused, then added.

"But I didn't lose out either. He got hit on the head and is probably still counting stars on the sofa right now."

He Sichen didn't respond to that.

He raised his hand, moved her chin to the side, his gaze tracing the teeth marks, then rolled up her sleeve and examined her wrist.

"Where else?"

"That's all."

"Turn around once."

Si Yimian obediently turned around.

"It's really gone."

After confirming, He Sichen released her wrist and turned her shoulder line mostly towards the door.

"Wait for me outside."

She paused for a moment, watching as he stepped over the door frame.

"Are you going in alone?"

He raised his hand, placed his palm on the top of her head, and gently pushed the door open, the instruction clear.

"Two against one, that's not fair."

Si Yimian was pushed out the door by having her head pressed down.

She tried to turn around, but the door had already closed in front of her.

Click.

The latch springs in.

She stood in the corridor, staring intently at the dark walnut-colored security door.

It was quiet inside the door at first.

It was so quiet that she almost thought He Sichen had gone in to have tea with He Nanxian.

Then the first explosion occurred.

Something was overturned with a dull thud, and even the floor shook.

Then came a series of cracking sounds: porcelain shattered, heavy objects fell to the ground, and the dull thud of fists slamming into flesh.

Si Yimian pressed her ear against the door panel, her pupils gradually dilating.

He Sichen was the type of person who never got into a fight; he rarely even argued with anyone.

For him to take action is like asking a snow leopard that has been entrenched in the earth for years to jump into a mud pit and roll around.

It turns out that when a saint's selfish desires are triggered, he swings his fist just like an ordinary person.

The feeling of being favored by a saint is a million times better than being openly liked by an ordinary person.

I just hope He Sichen's hands, which were used for surgery, and his face don't get hurt.

About ten minutes later, the door opened.

He Sichen came out and closed the door behind him.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his knuckles were scraped, with a few thin streaks of blood seeping out.

There was a small bruise above my left cheekbone, with light purple edges, and a small cut at the corner of my mouth, with a bead of blood clotted on my lip.

He was holding something in his hand.

The milky yellow body, the screen shattered into a spiderweb pattern, was the very same one that He Nanxian had just thrown away.

Si Yimian's pupils contracted, and she immediately bristled.

She reached out and touched his cheekbone.

"Did he slap you in the face?"

He Sichen tilted his head to dodge, but couldn't avoid it; her fingers were already touching him.

"I wasn't paying attention when I fought back."

He shoved the broken phone into her hand and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

Si Yimian held her phone and looked up at his wound.

"I just love your face. Why wouldn't he hit you in the face?"

"If he disfigures you, who will I sleep with after that?"

"This face is a work of art! It's a national key protected cultural relic!"

"Does he even know anything about art appreciation?"

She turned and was about to rush towards the door.

"He's dead."

"I'll go in and offer him some warmth."

He Sichen grabbed her by the back of her collar and pulled her back like he was carrying a cat.

What are you doing?

"I'll go in and add another wood carving for him."

He looked down at her, his expression indifferent.

"Your wooden carving is enough for him to get four stitches."

"So he still has the strength to slap you in the face? That means I went too easy on him."

"Don't stop me! Do you know how much your face is worth?"

He Sichen's lips twitched slightly as he watched her bristle.

"Judging by appearance at night?"

Si Yimian was stunned, realizing what she had said, and her ears suddenly burned.

But I still gritted my teeth and continued.

"What I mean is that you lured me into bed with your looks."

"Next time you get hurt, don't use your face to take the blow. Would it kill you to use your arm to block it?"

"This is all the spiritual nourishment I have; if it's cut off, where will I get the rest?"

He Sichen lowered his head as she read to him.

"Is your face more important, or your life?"

"Face."

He Sichen fell silent.

He raised his hand and steered her towards the elevator.

"Go back and treat your wound first, don't argue with me here."

Si Yimian was pushed half a step back, then bounced back.

"Then what about him? Just let it go?"

He Sichen had already taken his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen to dial a number with one hand.

"Building A, Guanlan No. 1, Room 2801".

His voice, when announcing the address, had switched back to its normal tone, calm and steady.

"External injuries, blunt force trauma and glass cuts to the head, an open wound of about three centimeters above the brow bone, and possible mild concussion."

He paused, then added.

"The patient is conscious, able to breathe independently, and shows no signs of vomiting, ruling out intracranial hemorrhage and possible worsening of concussion."

"It's not life-threatening, no emergency care is needed, a routine ambulance dispatch is fine."

After hanging up the phone, Si Yimian stared at his slapped face, the fire in her chest still burning.

"You even called an ambulance for him?"

He Sichen put his phone back in his pocket and looked down at her.

Anger and reason are not mutually exclusive.

"Anger is an emotion, but cleaning up the mess is a responsibility."

"You hit his head, and I hit it a few more times. It's easy to cause an accident if you don't call a car."

Si Yimian asked, puzzled, "Why didn't you think about the consequences when you went in?"

"I've thought about it."

Si Yimian: "You thought about it, so why did you hit me?"

"Before we started fighting, we were thinking about how to end the conflict, not whether we would fight at all."

"And if anything really happens to him, you'll have to go to the police station tonight to give a statement."

Si Yimian: "..."

"Alright."

She accepted this reasoning, but she was still unhappy.

"But I've remembered that he slapped you in the face."

She suddenly reached out, grabbed his chapped knuckles, and pulled them close to her eyes.

"Does this hurt?"

He Sichen looked at her lowered head, and something in his heart melted.

"It doesn't hurt."

"Let's go home and deal with it first."

She muttered to herself, her fingertips lightly touching the edge of the wound.

……

Back in 2701, He Sichen took out his first-aid kit and began treating Si Yimian's wounds.

The moment the iodine swab touched the wound on the side of her neck, Si Yimian gasped and shrank back into the sofa.

"Ouch... Be gentle."

He Sichen knelt on one knee in front of the sofa. She turned her head to avoid him, but he grabbed her chin and turned her back.

"Don't move it, make sure to clean the inflamed edges thoroughly."

The cotton swab traced the edge of the teeth marks, and the stinging sensation of iodine seeping into the broken skin made her toes curl up slightly inside her slippers.

"Dr. He, are you this fierce when treating people's wounds?"

"It depends on the person; you don't need to be harsh with those who are obedient."

Si Yimian puffed out her cheeks and stopped dodging.

He Sichen's breath brushed against her neck, cool and refreshing.

He was close by, the front of his shirt brushing against her shoulder, the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric and passing over her through the thin layer of clothing.

She stared at his lowered eyelashes and suddenly spoke.

"Dr. Crane."

"Um."

"Aren't you going to ask me if anything else happened between him and me?"