Yang Yifeng coughed violently twice, tears choked up into his eyes, which made him look extremely pitiful.
"Doctor Yang, are you okay? Is it serious? Do you need to go to the washroom?"
Yang Yifeng waved his hand, "No need, I'm fine. I just choked, drinking a couple glasses of milk will do the trick."
"Alright then, I'll go get some water from the kitchen."
"Sure, go ahead."
Ye Zitong left with the medicine bowl in hand.
Yang Yifeng held a cup of milk, sitting on the chair and staring at the dark bowl of medicinal soup, his feelings a mass of intricacies. He hated taking medicine the most, but now he was coerced into it.
It doesn't matter!
Yang Yifeng picked up the cup of milk beside him, took a sip, then a spicy taste spread across his mouth, causing his stomach to convulse involuntarily.
Fortunately, Yang Yifeng had a strong ability to withstand pressure and did not vomit; otherwise, his stomach would have probably suffered after downing that cup.
