It wasn't that he believed Ye Wudao's medical skills were superior to Zhou Fusheng's, but because he had urgent matters to attend to later and couldn't wait any longer, he had no choice but to try a desperate remedy for a desperate disease.
Zhao Kexin, seeing those patients returning to her side to queue up, with only one patient going over to Ye Wudao for treatment, couldn't help but smile slightly, her disdain for Ye Wudao deepening even more.
Ye Wudao, on the other hand, was not so petty. Having finally gotten a patient, he was actually quite happy. The patient was a man in his thirties, with somewhat dark skin and a face that carried a weather-beaten look. His clothes were very ordinary, suggesting that he wasn't wealthy.
