When Zhao Yan felt that the medicine had reached its peak effectiveness, he began to rinse the remaining medicinal liquid from the wound using the water from the cup next to him. Though the medicine could heal the injury, it shouldn't remain in the body for too long, or else the consequences would be a disabled arm and half the body's nerves losing sensation.
Song Yun slowly released his grip on Zhao Yan's hand. Zhao Yan found that his arm had been squeezed purple. "If I don't get a raise, I'm quitting," he thought bitterly. "I'm both your butler and your damn doctor. Why don't you make me a gigolo and use me to earn money?"
Zhao Yan was heartbroken; being the youngest among them, he had the least rights. "Can't you idiots learn from Lei Feng's selfless spirit?" he thought. "Why is it that every time we meet, you bastards are just after my money? That's the difference."
