Zhan Nanjue didn't even sit in the wheelchair; he walked straight out of Ou Yimo's hospital room, step by step, moving forward.
He didn't know how long he had been walking; every step felt heavy and cumbersome, as if a massive stone was pressing on his heart.
Every word Ou Yimo had just said weighed down on him, making it hard for him to breathe.
——Zhan Nanjue, you and Shirao are impossible!
——We've already slept together, do you think she'd still want you?
——She saw me with you with her own eyes, so she ran out in agitation.
Why was he so foolish? Why did he go to Ou Yimo's hospital room?
He pressed tightly against his chest, pounding it forcefully, but the feeling of pain didn't abate.
After a while, he seemed to realize something and rushed to Gong Shirao's office, stumbling and rising several times due to his weakened body.
He finally reached her office, but it was empty, with no one inside.
So he ran to his own hospital room, still, no one was there.
