In the heart of Aurora, the grand hall of the city's central clinic was abuzz with activity. The room was spacious, with high ceilings and large windows that allowed natural light to flood in, casting a serene glow on the polished wooden floors. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes, jars of herbs, and various medical instruments. The air was thick with the mingling scents of medicinal herbs and incense, creating an atmosphere both calming and intense.
In a large, ornate bed at the center of the room lay a young boy, his face pale and clammy with sweat. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, and though his eyes remained closed, his eyelids fluttered as if he were dreaming. The boy's parents, humble cultivators dressed in simple robes, stood nearby with anxious expressions, clutching each other for support.
