The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window lattice and spread a warm golden glow across the floor.
Now and then, birds chirped outside, their clear, pleasant songs sharply contrasting with the heavy atmosphere indoors.
Oscar and the others had arrived early that morning and were now gathered around Tang San's bed.
Ma Hongjun looked dejected. His usually shifty little eyes were dull and lifeless, as though every spark had been drained from them.
He sat on a stool beside the bed, hunched over, his right hand unconsciously covering his lower back on the right. Every so often, he rubbed it gently, then snatched his hand away as though shocked by a jolt of electricity. A pain too complicated to put into words flickered across his face.
The kidney on his right side was completely ruined, along with an important function.
In his current state, even if his "Xiangxiang" stood right in front of him, he could only stare helplessly. There was nothing he could do.
Just like the "impotent husband" described in those storybooks: he had the desire but not the ability, and could only lament his fate.
He was like a wild weed crushed beneath a cartwheel, suffering and full of grievances he couldn't voice.
The worst part was that he couldn't tell anyone. He could only swallow his misery, grit his teeth, and force a smile, pretending nothing had happened.
"Xiao San, were you out of your mind yesterday?" Oscar asked, looking at Tang San's flushed face in confusion. "Didn't you notice anything strange about that soup Yu Xiaogang gave you?"
"Yeah, Xiao San." Dai Mubai chimed in, studying Tang San's face. "Could something be wrong with your sense of taste?"
"That smell yesterday—we could clearly smell it from outside. Didn't you notice?"
"What could possibly be