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Chapter 9 He Wanted to Touch Her

While she dressed his wound, Mu Nuannuan was tender—so tender that it struck a chord with Moo Tingxiao. He wanted to touch her. She was his wife; he could do whatever he wanted with her.

However, to Mu Nuannuan, he was Moo Jiachen, Moo Tingxiao’s cousin. He had harassed her, both mentally and physically, going beyond what she could bear.

Mu Nuannuan pushed him away and moved several steps back, glaring at him. “Moo Jiachen, I’m your cousin’s wife! Please be respectful!”

Just when she started to despise “Moo Jiachen” less after the bullet removal stunt, he went out of bounds again.

Stroking his lips to savor the aftertaste of the kiss, Moo Tingxiao spoke in a delusional manner, “Nuannuan, you’ve essentially become a grass widow after marrying my cousin. Would you consider me instead?”

“I won’t,” Mu Nuannuan declined him outright. Four-eyed, ugly, and dressed like an old lady, she was everything but attractive, yet Moo Tingxiao found her brilliant. Mu Nuannuan figured that she had to do something right then. Otherwise, “Moo Jiachen” would only go from bad to worse.

“Call someone to fetch you back, or I’ll call the ambulance, and people will find out that you have a gunshot wound.” Her voice was overly soft and lacked a deterrent effect.

Moo Tingxiao threw her a glance, then closed his eyes to get some shuteye as if he did not hear her at all.

Speechless, Mu Nuannuan bit her lip. Looking at his face, she could not bear to shoo him away.

While “Moo Jiachen” napped, she went to the market to get some supplies.

She was the third young mistress of the Mu Family, but she had never lived as one in real life. No one cared if she was sick, no one asked if she was hungry; she just grinned and bore it all, and that made her a tough person. As detestable as “Moo Jiachen” was, she could not let herself see the man die. She was passionate and hardworking. She did not want anyone dead, let alone become his grave buddy. Thus, she made him soup, albeit reluctantly.

At nightfall, Mu Nuannuan woke “Moo Jiachen” up.

“Are you hungry? I’ve made you some soup. Would you like to drink some?” She stood at a distance—two steps away from him—for fear that he would do something unbecoming again.

Moo Tingxiao looked up at her and simply uttered, “Yup.”

She poured him a bowl, brought it to the table beside the bed and retreated. But there was only so much space in her tiny living unit. Apart from the small kitchen and toilet partitions, a 1.5-meter-long bed, a foldable table, a single-seat sofa, and a bookshelf, which had seen better days, occupied half of the tiny living space. No matter how far she jumped, she could not get out of Moo Tingxiao’s sight.

Moo Tingxiao shot her a glance, sat up, and whisked the quilt away like a zombie, exposing the blood-soaked bandage that was wrapped around his chest. He then absent-mindedly said, “My wound dehisced.”

His voice was so indifferent. It sounded like he was not talking about the wound that could cost him his life but someone else’s. Mu Nuannuan had half a mind to go away, but she also could not bear to leave him alone, so she walked over very slowly. With a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, she fed him a spoonful of soup.

Moo Tingxiao said nothing again. He just looked down and drank every spoon of soup she delivered. In the quiet tiny living unit, the only sound was the clinking made by the spoon and bowl. Just like that, something began to grow between them.

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