บท 459: The First Winter (VI)

Describing Wei Ci as a sick beauty was apt.

"Didn't you ask for trouble?" Zhang Ping pushed the door open, and the room was completely dark, the air filled with the distinct smell of sharp-tinged medicine. A faint air of deterioration and boredom permeated the air. He sat at Wei Ci's bedside; his expression was rather helpless. His friend fell sick frequently and seeing this, his heart was broken. Yet there was no counter solution. "If your illness deteriorates, you will really become a medicinal container." 

Wei Ci took his medications. His limbs were chillingly cold but slowly regained some warmth. "Fret not, Ci will not die yet."

While saying this, he wore an indifferent expression, but between his brows a mildly downcast expression was visible.

Zhang Ping and Wei Ci had known each other for years, and obviously, he was aware of the environment Wei Ci was brought up in.