Fang Chengyu sat in his wheelchair, a low table next to him with a cup of tea on top of it.
Right now, he was very angry.
If another person was angry, they would’ve hit the table or thrown the cup to the ground to show their emotions.
But he could not. He had less and less strength in his upper body. Even holding something was hard for him. All he could do was use a spoon to drink tea from his cup or turn a book. Hitting the table or throwing down the tea cup would for one, take a lot of energy, and two, be a waste of it.
His energy and time were the same. Both were very precious and could not be squandered.
So no matter how angry he was, he kept calm.
The people in the house praised and admired his ability to keep calm at such a young age. While in reality, this calmness was not innate, but polished by his despair.
“Why?” he asked.
Why believe her?
Even if you turned to any doctor when you were ill, you at least turned to a doctor. Jun Zhenzhen was nothing.
