She paused for a moment before exclaiming in panic, "Mo Shiche, you... you have a nosebleed..."
Mo Shiche looked down and saw fresh blood on his white shirt. He wiped his nose with his hand, which came away bloody.
A dull pain surfaced mysteriously in his chest, tugging at his nerves.
The symptoms had been growing more frequent and severe lately, and always without warning.
His lips pressed together tightly, he didn't bother to look for something to wipe his nose, and instead, he immediately turned the steering wheel and quickly pulled the car over to a relatively quiet side of the road.
Luo Qiangwei hurriedly fished a wet tissue from her bag, tore it open, and handed it to him, "Wipe it quickly, it's quite bad..."
"Get out of the car," Mo Shiche said, his index finger pressing against his nose; he didn't look at her, his voice somewhat hoarse, "Take a taxi back on your own, or have Yan Chu come to pick you up."
