"Yanye, don't blame Jianjian,"
Within the hospital's VIP ward, Ruxiang said this to the man who had hurried over, crying.
Zhuo Jian stood with her hands behind her back, gazing downward in silence, awaiting the arrival of a tempest.
And sure enough, she was soon dragged out by Fu Yanye and pinned against the wall in the stairwell.
"What exactly did you do to her? Haven't I told you she can't be agitated?"
Fu Yanye clutched her throat as if he were King Yanluo emerging from darkness, both questioning and condemning!
Zhuo Jian placed her hands on the cold wall, looking at the man in front of her who sought to choke her to death. At this moment, what illusions could she harbor?
Ruxiang had suddenly fainted right in front of her, another person who was seriously ill.
When all those doctors rushed into the ward to resuscitate her, she had that feeling—if anything happened to Ruxiang, she wouldn't survive either.
And now, that had been confirmed.
