Their building had forty-eight floors, and sometimes the elevators took a while to arrive.
Today was one of those times.
Both elevators were stopped on the second basement level, with no movement for ages.
The wound on Old Luo's hand had barely improved. It still hurt, burning fiercely.
The pain made the eyes of a grown man like him turn red.
The researcher glanced at Old Luo's reflection in the elevator frame, lowered his eyes, and did not dare meet his gaze. He was silent as a cicada in winter.
Old Luo had never found elevators so difficult to wait for.
At long last, an elevator slowly began rising and was almost there. He breathed a sigh of relief and straightened up, ready to enter when a scream suddenly rang out beside him, followed by a commotion.
"Professor!"
"Gauze! Hurry! The first-aid kit!"
"Professor, are you all right?!"
Old Luo instinctively looked toward the offices.
Soon, several people hurriedly helped Zhou Mingyi out.
Zhou Mingyi was already half-conscious.
A large patch of blood stained his white shirt. His temple seemed to be injured and was gushing blood. One person pressed a cloth against the wound, but it did little good.
Before long, even with the wound held down, blood flowed down his cheek, dyeing half his body crimson.
The sight was terrifying. Old Luo was so shocked that he forgot his own pain. "What happened?"
Someone hurriedly answered, "We don't know how, but a picture frame in the office suddenly fell and hit Professor Zhou on the head."
"How could it suddenly fall?"
"We don't know either."
As they spoke, the elevator opened, and they hurriedly carried Zhou Mingyi inside.
Old Luo followed in as well, supported by the researcher.
Zhou Mingyi could barely remain standing.
There was no stretcher