The room door swings open, and the light at the doorway flicks on.
Yaen Chi instinctively squints his eyes, and after adjusting to the light slightly, he looks toward the door, his sharp gaze sweeping over the four figures.
Wearing blue caps and masks, dressed in sterile clothing, fully armed from head to toe, two doctors walk in front, with nurses pushing medical equipment following behind.
"Mr. Yaen, has the wound split open again?"
The older one, about forty years old, wears glasses on the bridge of his nose; behind the lenses, his eyes seem honest and earnest.
But in such a place, the more honest a person seems, the less normal they are.
Yaen Chi is still lying down. After the person approaches, he has to look from below upward, tilting his neck as his gaze passes over the doctor's face and then lowers.
"Trouble you."
