Duan Pengcheng saw his son leave, smirked, and walked upstairs with his hands behind his back. He then sat on the sofa in the bedroom, raised his hands, and a flash of light passed around him before disappearing.
Indeed, he was sick, and indeed he had a fever. But as Duan Yanran wondered in her heart, her grandfather was not a simple man. It was impossible for him to fall ill, especially from such a minor ailment. It simply could not happen within his body.
Unless he really encountered a dreadful disease, then it might be possible for him to fall ill.
Duan Pengcheng sat on the sofa, looking at the open window. He walked over, drew the curtains shut, sat back down on the sofa, and remained silent, as if waiting for someone.
It was less than ten minutes before the bedroom door was pushed open, and a woman with a graceful figure walked in.
"Stepfather." The woman stood inside the bedroom, her face cold as she respectfully called out to Duan Pengcheng.