After saying this, Duan Xin added another sentence, worried that he hadn't made his intentions clear enough: "That boy looks a lot like me."
"You... what are you saying?" Duan Qianyang's lips trembled as he struggled to get off the bed, but his body was too frail to allow such movement.
The moment he struggled, he fell straight off the bed. Even though there was a doctor by his side, he still fell.
This position was fatal for him; he immediately couldn't breathe, and after being helped back by the doctor, he started to breathe heavily and his complexion grew worse.
The doctor didn't dare to delay, and hurriedly asked the other two, one big and one small, to leave the sickroom.
Duan Xin hadn't expected his words to agitate Duan Qianyang like this, and he stood at the door of the sickroom, his lips pale, feeling at a loss. He didn't mean it, he really didn't mean it.
