Tang Zhinian carried his daughter to see the doctor. The registration fee at that time was very cheap, only a few cents, but there were so many people in the hospital that they had to stand in line.
And Tang Yuxin seemed a bit lethargic, didn't want to talk. In fact, she was thinking about how to make her father understand the true colors of Sang Zhilan, so as to stay away from that woman and not to be taken away by Sang Zhilan.
Sang Zhilan was not their hope as a father and daughter, but rather the executioner who would kill them.
Tang Zhinian held his daughter trembling, his palms were cold with sweat,
"What's wrong?" The white-coated doctor touched Tang Yuxin's forehead. The child seemed listless, and he couldn't figure out what was wrong.
"Doctor, my daughter has a stomachache."
The color drained from Tang Zhinian's face, even paler than Tang Yuxin's. He was truly frightened.
