Chen Shaobei arrived at the camp for an inspection and to assess the soldiers' readiness.
Just as he rode up, he saw a group of seven or eight soldiers gathered at the camp entrance.
Chen Shaobei's brow furrowed. "What do you think you're doing? Don't you have work to do?"
At the sound of his stern voice, the soldiers immediately straightened up.
"Greetings, General! Miss Su came seeking help. She accidentally cut her ankle on a thornbush, and it won't stop bleeding. We were just discussing whether we should take her to the medic's tent."
Seated high on his horse, Chen Shaobei's cold gaze swept over the group.
Only then did he see that the person surrounded by the soldiers was none other than Su Zhirou.
She was petite, a full head shorter than the soldiers. She was bent over slightly, holding up the hem of her skirt, her oval face pale and drained of color.
Chen Shaobei glanced down. Blood had indeed seeped through the fabric of her leggings.
