The old man's skin was dry and shriveled, clinging to his bones like crumpled paper, his sparse hair, and both eyes looked like dried-up caverns; his hands might as well have been skeletal claws, and a deathly aura enveloped him, making him seem anything but alive.
When Chu Yang saw the old man, his expression instantly became grave, and he couldn't help but think of what Ye Zhen had just warned him about, telling him not to overexert himself.
The man lying on the bed made Chu Yang's scalp tingle.
Long Xingxing looked at Chu Yang cautiously, hesitating for a moment, "Mr. Chu... is... is there any hope for my grandfather?"
Chu Yang didn't speak, because he didn't know either.
This was the only patient that had made Chu Yang feel unsure since he began practicing medicine.
The old man's condition was like a feeble spark in a snowstorm, vulnerable to being extinguished with the slightest wind and snow, leading to death.