Hong Ye led Qin Yang upstairs to the bedroom on the second floor.
In the room, Lu Qingmu's face was entwined with wisps of black qi, his eyes sunken, veins bulging on his hands as he clutched the bed sheets tightly, his face contorted with pain.
On a chair beside the bed, Zhou Yizhen sat hesitantly, holding a medicine bowl, evidently debating whether to give the medicine to Lu Qingmu.
In the room, not only was Zhou Yizhen present, but Lu Bingyao, who had been shot, was also there. She looked at Lu Qingmu with concern, her heart filled with anxiety, but she didn't understand medicine. Every night at midnight, her father had to endure two hours of this pain.
"Little Divine Doctor, you've finally arrived."
Seeing Qin Yang push the door open and enter, Zhou Yizhen quickly stood up.
"Hmph, you scoundrel, I asked you to treat my dad, but when he's in pain, you disappear without a trace." Lu Bingyao was very angry, her pretty face cold as she glared at Qin Yang.
