The profound ink-black eyes were filled with an indissoluble layer of cold frost, and their oppressive gaze made it impossible to look directly at them.
Kneeling on both knees was an immense humiliation for Qian Mian.
Both arms had been shot, and specifically in the vital areas; even a slight movement was excruciating.
The considerable blood loss turned Qian Mian's complexion pale as paper; he struggled to raise his head and met those deep, icy eyes. In that moment, it felt as though he had plummeted into an ice cave.
He looked shocked, "Li Mochan, you really haven't lost your memory?"
He was well aware of the drug he had synthesized; it couldn't be completely ineffective unless Li had regained his memory.
Bringing up the very thing one wanted to forget, something stuck like a thorn in Li Mochan's heart. If not for that silver needle, he wouldn't have lost his memory, nor would he have caused his wolf cub distress.
That day his wolf cub had cried, even lying in the snow.
