The room was very messy, filled with numerous goods, and at the very back, there was a small single bed on which Xia Wenjun was sleeping.
Tang Ming walked over, glanced at Xia Wenjun's complexion—which wasn't too good—then picked up his hand, felt his pulse, and suddenly said, "Auntie, Uncle should have recovered about seventy to eighty percent by now, according to my last estimate. How come there is no improvement at all?"
"Little Tang, is the situation serious?"
Wei'er's mom's face changed color as she asked anxiously.
After Tang Ming put down Xia Wenjun's hand, he said, "If the situation continues, it will become very serious. First of all, Uncle has been bedridden for years, his physical constitution is already not strong, and his old stubborn illness hasn't been cured. If this new injury doesn't heal, it could lead to serious complications, and could even become life-threatening."
"Ah!"
Wei'er's mom's eyes immediately reddened, and she said with sobs:
