Jia Cong couldn't help but give a bitter smile, "I'm probably the most tragic and useless transmigrator in history."
It's really a disgrace to transmigrators.
Jia Cong's psychological resilience was not bad; even at this time, he still had the mood to ridicule himself.
"Brother Cong, Brother Cong!"
A suppressed shout came through the rear window of the small cabin.
Jia Cong's eyes lit up, "Is that you, Brother Huan?"
"Who else could it be if not me?"
"Hmph, now you know how good I am to you, don't you!"
"Here-- this is the medicine for your wound; I stole it from my aunt. Oh, and here's a packet of snacks for you to nibble on!"
Pushing open the window from the outside, Jia Huan squeezed a white porcelain bottle filled with wound medicine and a paper-wrapped package through the gap.
Jia Cong struggled to get up, went to the window, and carefully received the items.
"Brother Huan, thank you!" Jia Cong's voice was noticeably nasal.
