Jiang Jiamian pushed Fu Yanchen all the way into the bedroom, and without missing a beat, hooked his foot back to shut the door with a soft thud.
By now, Fu Yanchen's face had taken on a reddish tint, and a red rash was rapidly spreading across the exposed skin of his neck at a speed visible to the naked eye.
And his eyes were staring at Jiang Jiamian coldly, as if he wanted to tear him apart alive.
"Can you still speak?"
Jiang Jiamian bent over and grabbed his hand that was tightly holding the armrest of the wheelchair, trying to make him relax.
But Fu Yanchen's fingers remained clenched, and the veins on the back of his hand were bulging from the strain. He didn't know whether it was because of discomfort or anger.
"If you can't speak, then everything I do next will be assumed to be your consent, and you must not trouble me for various reasons afterwards. Now, if you agree, just blink."
Fu Yanchen's eyes did not move, and he stared at him.
