Wu Xirui immediately clutched his chest, feigning a look of unbearable pain on his face. The wine glass in his hand slipped and smashed onto the floor, emitting a crisp sound.
Shards of glass scattered everywhere, and the dark red wine spread along the glass fragments on the floor, blossoming into eerie blood-red flowers.
Qiao Jing hadn't expected anything like this to happen. After freezing for a second, she quickly regained her composure and leaned towards Wu Xirui, placing her hands near several acupoints on his chest and gently pressing down.
"What's the matter, did you smoke when you went in?"
This was clearly Wu Xirui's usual reaction when his illness acted up, but having an attack here was inconvenient—there was nowhere to perform acupuncture, and the crowded, bustling environment was far from quiet.
Wu Xirui, pretending to be in distress, shook his head, and a cold sweat began to form on his forehead.
"Just one puff… only took one puff…"
