The ambulance rocked up pretty quick.
But Wang Zhiyuan was in so much pain he was practically a zombie. People were shuffling him around, and he didn't give a hoot. All he remembered was Lin Moran wearing this black leather jacket with a silver teardrop-shaped zipper, swinging back and forth in front of his face like an annoying pendulum.
Suddenly, there were people everywhere, yapping away. Some were talking to him, some weren't. Someone touched his leg and he swatted their hand away. But honestly, he couldn't care less. He knew that once you're in the hospital, you're like meat on a chopping board, waiting to get sliced and diced. All he cared about was that darn zipper and jacket appearing and disappearing, which was driving him nuts.
In a daze, someone helped him up and shoved a piece of paper in his face, telling him to sign.
Wang Zhiyuan cursed under his breath as the guy's hand pressed against his wound.
