December 12th, Friday, 7 AM.
Yuzhou Third People Hospital, single ward.
The ward door was suddenly pushed open, and Lin Zida, Lin Han, and Ding Shuyan entered successively.
As they stepped into the ward, the smell of disinfectant greeted their noses. The floor was slightly damp; the cleaning lady had just left not long ago.
Zhuang Jianhui lay on the hospital bed, with an IV drip hanging above his head, the liquid dropping slowly.
His eyes were bloodshot, and the intense pain from the surgery had kept him awake all night. His usual vigor was entirely gone, replaced by confusion and pain.
On the small bed next to him, a middle-aged couple sat, equally worried.
As soon as they heard the commotion at the door, the couple immediately got up to greet them: "You came so early."
Lin Han sized up the middle-aged man; despite staying overnight, his hair was still meticulously groomed.
