Lin Xiaoxiao felt another wave of discomfort wash over her. The mental image of Zhou Huai'an guiding Luo Caixia's hand as she practiced writing was too much to dwell on.

Yet she had to admit—the characters were beautifully written.

Zhou Huai'an glanced at them without much expression. "Not bad," he commented.

Luo Caixia smiled. "You used to say I was clumsy—almost slapped my hand back then. How could I not practice hard? I never dared forget all these years."

Then she quickly added, "I've been talking too much—please, come inside for some tea before you go."

Zhou Huai'an declined directly. "No need. It's late—you should rest. There's no need to come tomorrow; we'll be heading back in the afternoon."

Luo Caixia looked disappointed, but the dim streetlights hid it well. She continued smiling gently. "Alright, travel safely. Please tell xiao' liI'll visit her when I return to the village."

Lin Xiaoxiao followed Zhou Huai'an down the street. When she looked back, Luo Caixia was still standing in her shop doorway, shrouded in a faint, mysterious glow under the lamp.

She turned to study Zhou Huai'an—there was no trace of nostalgia on his face. She asked quietly, "You and Luo Caixia were quite close, weren't you?"

Zhou Huai'an thought for a moment. "Her mother once saved my life."

Lin Xiaoxiao said, "Oh," and didn't ask further. A life debt, plus childhood friendship—it was only natural if there had been something between them.

What good would digging deeper do?

She sighed inwardly—this newly sprouted affection of hers was probably doomed already.

She walked quietly behind him, stepping on his shadow all the way back to the guesthouse.

Seeing no one at the front desk, she impulsively pulled Zhou Huai'an upstairs without a second thought.

No one was watching—this was her chance to check his wound.

Before he could process what was happening, Zhou Huai'an was pulled into her room, and she carefully shut the door.

"Quick, take your clothes off. Let me see."

She hurriedly pushed him toward the bed, worried someone might do a room check and they'd run out of time.

It wasn't until she began tugging at his clothes that Lin Xiaoxiao realized how... inappropriate her actions might seem. And there was Zhou Huai'an, half-lying on the bed, propped on his arms, looking completely at her mercy—and somehow, the image was a little... enticing?

She couldn't help laughing. "I need to check your wound quickly. What if someone finds you here and kicks you out?"

Zhou Huai'an's ears turned red, but he took off his jacket and shirt—by now, he seemed used to undressing in front of her.

The bandage on his abdomen was soaked through with blood. It looked serious.

Setting aside any awkward thoughts, Lin Xiaoxiao pressed him down flat. "If this is bad, you'll need to go back to the hospital for stitches. If you keep pushing yourself like this, do you even care about recovering?"

This man was unbelievably tough—how was he acting so normal despite all this?

Fortunately, she'd come prepared. After washing her hands, she took out a cloth bundle from her bag containing tweezers, a scalpel, and alcohol swabs—courtesy of a nurse she'd befriended.

Peeling back the bandage with the tweezers, she saw what she'd expected: the wound had reopened slightly, the edges pale, fresh red flesh visible beneath.

Not caring whether she'd reveal her skills, she disinfected the scalpel with alcohol and held it up toward Zhou Huai'an. "Two options: put your clothes back on and go to the hospital for proper stitches, or let me handle it. But I'll have to debride the necrotic tissue around the edges, or it won't heal well."

Mostly, she was itching to perform a little "surgery."

Zhou Huai'an didn't hesitate. "You do it."

Lin Xiaoxiao broke into a smile. "This might hurt. You'll have to bear it. If you keep recklessly moving around, how do you expect to heal?"

As she spoke, she deftly began cutting away the damaged tissue along the wound edges, removing it with the tweezers.

The alcohol disinfectant stung—let alone cutting into the wound.

Yet throughout the whole process, Zhou Huai'an didn't make a sound. He just kept his eyes closed, as if it were nothing more than a slight itch.

Lin Xiaoxiao was impressed all over again: now this was a real man. Trying to distract him, she asked kindly, "Your brothers both have 'Chang' in their names. Why don't you?"

Zhou Changyuan, Zhou Chang'an—those names were ordinary, very typical of the era.

But Zhou Huai'an... It sounded refined, almost scholarly, like the name of a young master from an educated family.

There was no way Zhou Mancang and Wang Fenglan could've come up with a name like that.

Zhou Huai'an, unusually talkative, explained, "I didn't go by this name originally. When I was seven or eight, I got very sick. An old scholar in our village knew a bit of fortune-telling—he said my original name would bring misfortune to my parents, so they changed it to this."

Lin Xiaoxiao wasn't surprised. Most villagers weren't educated. Even Zhou Changyuan became team leader not because he was especially capable, but simply because he could read and write.

So of course they'd trust the old scholar's word.

"This name suits you well. What was your original name?" she asked curiously as she began bandaging the wound.

Zhou Huai'an didn't seem to think it was a bad name. "Zhou Changsuo."

Lin Xiaoxiao burst out laughing—now that was down-to-earth and full of era-appropriate flair!

She looked up at Zhou Huai'an's handsome face and laughed even harder. "Hahaha, Zhou Changsuo? Changsuo? Hahahaha..."

The name instantly made him seem more approachable—less of a cold, silent type and more like a honest, good-natured man.

Zhou Huai'an watched her, slightly baffled. What was so funny? He knew grown men in the village called "Xiaomei".

But he had to admit—when Lin Xiaoxiao laughed like that, her eyes sparkled, making her whole face glow.

Lin Xiaoxiao was laughing so hard her hands shook. She finally managed to finish bandaging him, but couldn't stop giggling.

She just couldn't reconcile the name "Zhou Changsuo" with the man in front of her.

Zhou Huai'an sat up silently and put his clothes back on. Seeing Lin Xiaoxiao still sitting on the opposite bed laughing, he sighed helplessly. "I should go. Remember to bolt the door tonight."

Tears of laughter gleamed in Lin Xiaoxiao's eyes as she nodded. "Okay, be careful on your way back. Get some rest."

After Zhou Huai'an left, Lin Xiaoxiao flopped onto the bed, still grinning uncontrollably. She murmured without thinking, "Zhou Changsuo..."

Then she started laughing again—it really made him seem so much less intimidating.

But right in the middle of her laughter, she suddenly remembered something and sat bolt upright.

Earlier... had she seen a dark red birthmark on Zhou Huai'an's waist?

Or was it just blood she hadn't wiped off?

She hadn't looked closely the previous times—too embarrassed. And last night at the Zhou family home, the light had been too dim.

This time, she had seen it—but she'd been too busy laughing at his old name to pay any attention...