From the first floor to the twenty-third, the elevator doors opened no fewer than ten times. Yet, throughout the journey, no one dared to remain inside. Even those who took a single step in would immediately retreat. They felt a frigid chill seeping from the elevator, a cold so penetrating it was like standing in a morgue. Though few had ever been to such a place, the unnerving sensation made their hair stand on end.
Qin Fan paid this no mind. He made no effort to conceal the frigid aura radiating from his own turbulent emotions, letting it pour out unchecked.
DING. The elevator arrived on the twenty-third floor, and the doors slid open automatically.
The twenty-third floor, home to the intensive care unit and a symbol of prestige, was hauntingly empty—so deserted it was unnerving.
As Qin Fan stepped out of the elevator, he heard the sound of several people weeping. He followed the cries, his breathing growing more ragged with each step.
