"Doctor, how's my son?"
The moment they opened the door of the operating theater that led to the corridor, anxious family members of the patient immediately crowded over. The patient's father, who was more than sixty years old, stood at the forefront. All his hair was white, and his face was covered in wrinkles. He basically looked like Zuo Cidian's younger brother.
A few of the patient's relatives who were busy chit-chatting also walked over with their hands clasped behind their backs. They surrounded the doctors and pretended to be concerned.
Song Shang took a deep breath. "We encountered a minor problem during the surgery…"
"Huh?"
"Why would there be a problem during the surgery?"
"Where's my son? My son…" The sixty-year-old father walked toward the operating theater with his shoulders squared. Fortunately, Lu Wenbin who was at the doorway stood in his way and held him back.