Inside the room, Li Zhiyuan was eating eggs poached with brown sugar.
Conditions have improved now; a few years ago, such a high-end supplement was only eaten by women after childbirth.
Ever since Li Zhiyuan fused that piece of red broken porcelain into his palm, a blood mist would always drift out when performing skill and controlling arrays, a detail that Run Sheng noticed.
Therefore, every time Run Sheng made himself a large bowl of noodle soup, he would also make this poached egg with brown sugar for Xiao Yuan, thinking it was the most nourishing.
Zhao Yi sat on the floor, his forehead heavily bandaged, and at this moment, he was personally using needle and thread to stitch up his own chest.
Threading needle and thread continuously, it was as if he was weaving a mosquito net for his dark and damaged little heart, occasionally picking up scissors to trim away some of the blackened rotten flesh.
