When Zhang Jing and his son arrived at the hospital, Jing Mo was on an IV. He looked a little dazed as he looked up at the sky in a daze.
In the double ward, there was also a man in his sixties on the other bed. His face was weathered, and his lips were dry and pale from the pain, but he was still chatting with his family with a smile.
He had a lot of family members, and there were two children squatting in the corner, playing with their phones.
His children were probably around the bed.
Zhang Jing had just stepped into the ward when he heard a young woman say, "Dad, if it really hurts, take painkillers. Didn't the doctor prescribe them for you?"
"I'm not taking them now. I'll take them before I sleep tonight. I'll sleep well after that."
Jing Mo, who was in a daze, seemed to be attracted by their conversation. He turned to look at the old man who was surrounded.
His eyes were no longer empty, but filled with sorrow and disappointment.
