You ask her, but she's one of your own!
A seemingly light remark struck Kang Zhirong like a thunderbolt, leaving him staring at Xie Kaiyao beside him.
He hoped to see a result that satisfied him, but what met his eyes was Xie Kaiyao's panicked gaze.
In an instant, his mind began to buzz chaotically, as if a detuned radio had been shoved into his ears, and all he could hear was static instead of the words spoken around him.
One of your own?!
Those three words were like the axe his father used to chop wood in his childhood, each swing leaving his thoughts scattered, unable to concentrate on dealing with the situation at hand.
As he moved his gaze blankly from Xie Kaiyao's face to the man's face on the sick bed again, each change in the man's expression felt like a swung slap, mercilessly striking his face.
What the hell have I done during this time?
