As Wen Muqing's attending physician, Kang Ting never expected that the next time he saw Wen Muqing, the latter would be in such a state of splitting headache.
"What happened, hasn't your headache symptom improved already?" Kang Ting asked.
Enduring the pain, Wen Muqing replied with difficulty, "I thought it had." But right now, the degree of pain in his head was telling him that his "thought" was just an illusion.
Kang Ting looked at Wen Muqing at the moment. The other was drenched in sweat, his hair soaked, his face pale without a hint of color, even his lips had a touch of purplish-blue.
The tightly furrowed brows and the bulging veins at his temples were all revealing how he was enduring intense pain at the moment.
Kang Ting was aware of Wen Muqing's ability to withstand pain. Once, even when wounded by a stab and bleeding profusely, he could remain stoic, and that year, he was just a teenager.
It was then that Kang Ting marveled at Wen Muqing's willpower.
