Xia Bing was frail and sickly as a child, frequently taking mysterious medicines. She dreaded the bitterness; it was practically life or death for her every time she had to take it. However, after her father died, it took just one year for her health to improve, and the occasions for taking the mysterious medicine became less and less.
Suddenly, Zhao Yang made her recall her own father, thus she couldn't help it, feeling the sorrow well up within.
"Come on," Zhao Yang said.
Xia Bing glanced at Zhao Yang, knowing he was about to start treating her.
"This bowl of medicine is specially concocted by me, circulating Qi and nourishing Yin. Fortunately, there's a 24-hour pharmacy downstairs; otherwise, today's treatment wouldn't be as effective," Zhao Yang stated.
"Then why didn't you have me drink it last time?" Xia Bing asked.