In the intensive care unit of Yangchuan City First People's Hospital, Zhou Jin, with several tubes inserted into his arm, lay despondently on the hospital bed, his eyes listlessly staring at the ceiling.
The hospital did not treat Zhou Jin harshly because he was a criminal; on the contrary, the conditions in the room were very good. The heating was turned up high, and outside the window was a scenic garden area. The few nurses responsible for the ward were, to say the least, quite attractive—scoring at least eighty points. If he wasn't seriously ill, living here would be almost like recuperation—refreshing and invigorating.
But Zhou Jin had no interest in any of these things; his heart felt ice cold.
At first, he could not understand at all why a flawless plan that could have led to Suming's demise had ended so abruptly, as if his opponent had known everything in advance!
