Late at night, at the Lu family residence.
He Youran put down the small medicine box and began to check Lu Qing's pulse. Under the warm yellow light, her small face was very round, like a cracked egg, making people want to pinch it.
Lu Qing was wearing expensive pajamas, and his slender fingers rested on the wheelchair.
His tall nose was blocked by the warm light on one side, and his good-looking and deep eyes were staring at her hand on his pulse. "How is it? Did you find anything?"
This was the most formal time He Youran had ever checked his pulse.
Her medical skills were definitely not something that ordinary Chinese medicine practitioners could compare to.
The master art of pule checking was learnt from the Heaven's medicine sect, but it also had something to do with her talent.
He Youran seemed to have a natural talent in medicine.
