"This is just a modest gift, but I must insist that you accept it, Mr. Qin."
Zhao Jingxi gestured earnestly to Qin Lin. "Then, I have a rather presumptuous request."
"If you have something on your mind, Mr. Zhao Sr., please feel free to speak."
Looking at the two trays before him—one holding five 500g gold bars and the other a hundred-year-old ginseng—Qin Lin's expression immediately grew serious.
"To be frank, I've had some trouble with my lungs. I've had a continuous cough since the end of last year, and at night, I struggle to breathe because of excessive phlegm blocking my airways. I diagnosed myself with pneumonia, but several courses of medicine have failed to cure it."
"Mr. Zhao Sr., please extend your left hand."
