With Master Buhui invited, the task of pulse diagnosis was primarily his, with Lin Qing assisting.
A medicine pillow was placed under Song Ci's wrist, and Buhui rested two fingers on her pulse, closing his eyes in contemplation.
The room was silent enough that a pin drop could be heard, and everyone held their breath for fear of disturbing Master Buhui and causing a misdiagnosis.
The pulse-checking took quite a while, one hand finished before switching to the other.
After the time it takes to drink two cups of tea, Buhui finally opened his eyes, which appeared to be filled with wisdom and were bright and penetrating.
"Master, how is my mother's pulse?" Song Zhicheng, being impatient, was the first to ask.
Buhui spoke bluntly: "The body is seriously ill, with not much time left."
Bang.
Song Zhicheng accidentally knocked over the teacup in his hand, his face turning pale.
Even some maids were trembling, with eyes reddening.
