Weston kicked open the bathroom door.
Not far away, Zhuge was standing in front of the sink, his right hand hanging under the faucet.
“Wow!”
The flowing cold water washed away the faint scarlet blood on his palm and entangled it into the sewer.
His black hair was hanging down, and strands of overly long forehead were wetly attached to his face, which further lined the sword eyebrows and the stars, with a deep outline.
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