He took a deep breath, scrambled up from the ground, and rushed over to Su Han. Looking up with red eyes, he asked desperately.
"Can I, can I still be cured?"
A terminal illness!
Everything Su Han had said was correct—the symptoms were indeed present in his body, and he had also secretly checked, but with no clear results, he had not taken it seriously.
But now, hearing Su Han's words, he was truly frightened.
What use were expert titles, social status, and wealth if one were to lose their life? He wanted to live; he did not want to die!
Now that Su Han had said he could be cured, Zhao Ming's heart was in his throat. Thinking back on how he had repeatedly belittled Su Han, even publicly humiliating him, he began to regret his actions, fearing he had sealed his own fate.
Su Han stood there, the epitome of calm, with not a single ripple of emotion, just a faint smile: "You're the youngest expert scholar, can't you cure yourself?"
