Leaving the gloomy cold storage, Jiang Shouzhong's pale cheeks gained a hint of color.
The residual pain in his body had not completely faded away.
With every step he took, it felt as if glass shards were mixed into his flesh.
Fortunately, Jiang Shouzhong was accustomed to even the most unbearable pain, so these aches were nothing in comparison, though the turbulence of vital energy within his body was truly uncomfortable.
The courtyard was covered in heavy snowfall, which did not feel cold.
After walking more than twenty paces, Jiang Shouzhong felt his organs as if being squeezed and torn apart, a warm sensation rising to his throat.
He quickly halted his steps, clenched his fists tightly, and forcibly swallowed the blood that had surged to his throat.
Spitting blood was not a big deal.
At least he must endure it until he got home to spit it out.
