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墨書 Inktalez
At this moment, I had arrived at the entrance of the inn, and a buzzing sound came from my phone. If I were to say that Zhao Mingkun was here, Guan Zengbin would probably be so delighted he would spin around three times. However, after a long silence, considering Zhao Mingkun's severe injuries, it would be unmanly to kick someone when they were down. Besides, Zhao Mingkun was hurt while helping me investigate the case.
"Wu Meng?" Guan Zengbin gently asked me again.
I still couldn't bring myself to reveal that Zhao Mingkun was with me. Instead, I said, "I was just organizing my clothes. I'll head back once I'm done."
"Okay." Guan Zengbin didn't seem suspicious and hung up the phone.
I put my phone in my pocket and took my things upstairs. I pushed the door of the inn but found it wasn't locked from the inside. Not thinking much of it, I walked in. The room wasn't large; it was just one space. I could see spots of blood on the bed, but there was no sign of Zhao Mingkun.
A chill ran through me. Did Zhao Mingkun think I would betray her if I went out, so she quietly slipped away after I left? But her injuries were so severe that if she wanted to escape from me, she could have done so in the sewer earlier; why wait for me? With this thought, I realized that Zhao Mingkun must still be in the room.
I closed the door and then saw Zhao Mingkun hiding behind it, holding a dagger in her hand. Her face was pale, and she leaned weakly against the wall, yet she gripped the dagger tightly. When she saw that no one else had entered behind me, she lowered the dagger with a frightened expression.
Then she leaned entirely against me.
I gently asked, "Were you afraid I would bring the police?"
"Clearly you didn't," Zhao Mingkun replied weakly.
I helped her onto the bed and slowly said, "I got everything you asked me to buy."
Zhao Mingkun didn't say much and let me unwrap the shirt around her. The black shirt was completely soaked in blood, sticking to her wounds. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the shirt off forcefully. The movement disturbed her injury, causing Zhao Mingkun to involuntarily let out a groan.
As I pulled off the shirt, blood began to flow slowly from her wound. We both understood that if we didn't stitch up her wound right away, Zhao Mingkun would bleed out slowly and die. The length and depth of the wound were beyond what the body could heal on its own; it required stitching to resolve the issue.
Zhao Mingkun's clothing hindered the stitching process, and I had to remove her clothes. At that moment, I couldn't care less about anything else. I used a key to cut a slit in her garment and then tore it apart. Suddenly, Zhao Mingkun's smooth, delicate skin was revealed before my eyes, stained with blood.
The wound extended from her waist down to her hips. This meant that Zhao Mingkun needed to pull her pants down a bit so I could see the injury.
I didn't say a word; I simply looked up at Zhao Mingkun. She understood my intent and was quite bold and straightforward. With both hands, she loosened her belt and pulled her pants down, exposing herself in nothing but her underwear.
It was clear that Zhao Mingkun was someone who exercised regularly; her figure was perfectly sculpted, with defined abs. Especially with her alluring physique lying on the bed, she appeared incredibly captivating. In a different scene or setting, with another person, this would have been a beautiful sight. However, at this moment, I had no appreciation for such beauty.
Because on her pristine skin were numerous scars.
These were long, unsightly scars.
They resembled centipedes crawling across Zhao Mingkun's white and taut skin, some measuring over ten centimeters long, while others were several centimeters in length. I couldn't fathom what kind of life experiences could lead to so many scars on a woman in her thirties—a time when a woman should be at her most sensual and charming.
It dawned on me that Zhao Mingkun had spoken the truth about my earlier words; the current wound paled in comparison to some of those scars. The contrast of such a stunningly beautiful woman bearing so many scars genuinely took me aback.
Zhao Mingkun gritted her teeth, her voice escaping through clenched jaws as she said, "Stop staring. Once you're done stitching, I'll let you look all you want."
I snapped back to reality and asked, "What should I do?"
I had never experienced anything like this before; I had never stitched anyone's wounds and had no idea how to proceed outside of a hospital setting.
Zhao Mingkun pointed to her pants with her foot and said, "There's a lighter inside. After disinfecting it, just stitch it up with the needle and thread. Judging by your expression, you've never sewn anything before, but it's quite simple. Just make sure not to make the stitches too tight; as long as you can close the skin together, it should be fine. Otherwise, it will hurt me a lot."
As I listened to Zhao Mingkun's instructions, I pulled out the lighter. I ignited it and followed her guidance to select an appropriately sized needle from the kit and held it over the flame to sterilize it.
Listening to Zhao Mingkun's final words, a powerful urge to protect her surged within me. Yet, when faced with the wound, I still didn't know what to do or how to proceed.
Zhao Mingkun continued, "Tear the gauze towel into two strips and soak them in some hot water. First, help me wipe away the blood."
I didn't dare to hesitate and hurriedly got to work. As I wiped Zhao Mingkun's wound with the hot water, despite her gritting her teeth tightly, pained groans still escaped from her lips. This made me realize that Zhao Mingkun was not the lofty Queen; she was a flesh-and-blood woman who could feel pain.
After wiping away the blood, Zhao Mingkun's wound had turned pale, revealing faint yellow muscle tissue beneath.
My hand trembled as I held the needle. Without anesthesia, each prick would cause immense pain, and she had to endure it all.
Zhao Mingkun lay there, grabbing a nearby pillow tightly against her chest while clutching the bedsheet with her other hand.
"Choose a bright red thread," she said, noticing my trembling hands. A faint smile crossed her face as she spoke lazily, "I've heard since childhood that red represents good fortune. If we use red thread, perhaps the wound will heal faster. Don't worry; you can practice on me. Who knows, when you get married in the future, you might even be able to sew clothes."
Zhao Mingkun seemed indifferent to these matters, as if she were not the one about to have her wound stitched up and used as a test subject. I couldn't tell if her words were meant to comfort me or herself. We both understood that if this went wrong, it could be fatal.
I swallowed hard and selected a red thread, aligning it with Zhao Mingkun's wound.
She nodded and bit down hard on the pillow, signaling that I could begin stitching.
I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths before steeling myself and piercing the needle into Zhao Mingkun's skin. At that moment, I felt her body jerk violently; she tensed up completely. I realized then that once I started, I had to finish quickly; otherwise, the longer it took, the more intense her pain would become.
With that thought in mind, I quickened my movements. I never imagined I would become someone who stitched up wounds for another person. I had also never realized that human skin could be sewn together just like fabric.
With each stitch I made, I could feel Zhao Mingkun's body gradually stiffening. Her veins seemed to bulge as she exerted herself, causing fresh blood to seep from her wound again. Meanwhile, I felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
Zhao Mingkun bit down hard on the pillow, but a painful sound still escaped from her nose, thick with nasal tones. Sweat began to bead on her skin, quickly soaking the sheets beneath her. Her delicate feet curled tightly, toes gripping the fabric.
A mere distance of a few centimeters felt farther than any distance in the world.
Finally, the last stitch was done. As I pulled the needle away, I felt as if I had just completed the hardest job in the world. I carefully set the needle aside and collapsed onto the bed. At that moment, Zhao Mingkun let out a long breath, lying on the bed beside me, both of us panting heavily.
The sheets were drenched with sweat and blood, as if something unspeakable had occurred upon them. I could hardly believe it; it hadn't even taken me a minute.
Zhao Mingkun lay sprawled out on the bed while I rested beside her.
We turned to look at each other, our faces glistening with sweat. We could feel each other's breaths and warmth, and I even caught a whiff of Zhao Mingkun's unique scent.
"You can sew now," she said, glancing at the wound I had stitched up. "Not bad, you didn’t kill me."
I stared at Zhao Mingkun for a moment in silence before suddenly bursting into laughter. I laughed without understanding what was so funny; I just felt an overwhelming urge to laugh at that moment, and so I did.
Zhao Mingkun looked at me and suddenly let out a soft laugh as well. However, since her wound had just been stitched, she couldn't laugh too hard; otherwise, it would tear open the newly sewn thread. She tried to suppress her laughter, which only made me laugh harder.
I laughed loudly enough that tears streamed down my face.
We gazed at each other for another minute before falling silent again. Looking into Zhao Mingkun's eyes, I felt a unique emotion that often arises between men and women.
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