The bodyguard brought the computer inside, and Fu Bairan, pale-faced, asked, "Is it possible to fix my hand?"
No one paid attention to her.
Not even a glance was given to her. Fu Bairan was furious, fuming with anger, "Are you all deaf? I asked if my wrist can be fixed!"
A bodyguard replied with a cold voice, "No, the madam didn't order us to fix your wrist."
Fu Bairan: "…So if she doesn't say so, my wrist will just stay like this?"
Truth be told, she held no grudge against Yuran; even if Yuran was Fu Yuran's friend, she had no right to imprison her. Bairan would rather go to jail than stay here and endure such treatment.
With an unchanged expression, the bodyguard responded, "Yes."
Fu Bairan was driven to madness by anger, her face contorted with pain into a grotesque and twisted shape, looking hideous. The delicate makeup on her face smeared from the sweat, making her look like a lunatic, truly nauseating to behold.
