Ignoring his exhaustion, Long Xuanmo rushed to Mengchen Pavilion. Upon seeing Hang Qingming seated in the living room, a trace of icy killing intent flickered in his dark eyes as he strode into Yang Mengchen's room.
As soon as he entered the room, he smelled a strong scent of medicine, and then saw the person lying quietly on the bed, her complexion so pale it was almost transparent, as if she could disappear at any moment. Long Xuanmo's heart felt as if it was being ruthlessly gouged by a knife, an unbearable, intense pain.
"Prince, have you brought the Phoenix Blood Lotus?" Doctor Luo asked urgently, his beard unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, devoid of his usual calm composure, looking visibly haggard.
The others were not much different, Yang Mengchen's breath becoming increasingly difficult to detect. They were all panicking, but at a loss for what to do.
In these eleven days, the Yang Mansion had been enveloped in gloom and doom, deathly still.