Leng Youchen leaned casually in the chair, his legs crossed without care, silently observing Wei Zhiguo. In the span of mere days, the man had aged as if he were in his seventies, his complexion now a sickly shade of yellow.
It was said that he'd regained consciousness from a severe coma just yesterday, though his condition was far from optimistic.
At this moment, as if sensing an overwhelming pressure, his eyelids twitched slightly, then he roused from his slumber.
Seeing the man seated at the edge of the hospital bed, Wei Zhiguo instinctively shrank back — a primal fear carved deep within his soul. However, to Leng Youchen, it was as if he hadn't moved an inch.
The man's phoenix-like eyes were deep and inscrutable, fixating on Wei Zhiguo's terror-stricken face. His breathing was rapid, the oxygen mask fogged with a shimmering mist. "You… you…"
