"That girl just injured this arm."
Yan Song swiftly retracted his arm, put on his clothes, and calmly buttoned them one by one. Cold sweat dripped down from his forehead, and his pale lips were tightly pressed.
Zhang Huasheng raised an eyebrow, seemingly having guessed something, and handed him a bottle of medicine, "Take one when the pain becomes unbearable; it might make you feel better."
Yan Song stood up and turned to leave.
The bottle of medicine wasn't looked at from beginning to end.
Perhaps in his eyes, there's no pain that can't be endured, except for the pain of losing that person.
Zhang Huasheng lowered his gaze with a slight smile: "Still not grateful, huh? Well... this medicine exhausted many precious herbs of mine. This is the only bottle in the world. If it weren't for my disciple's sake, you wouldn't get one from me."
Yan Song walked to the balcony and put on headphones, where Yellow Hair's anxious voice echoed.
