After seeing patients for three consecutive days, Song Lianhe was aching from head to toe. Fortunately, the body's original owner had a good constitution; her previous office worker's body would have been carried out on a stretcher long ago.
Just then, the coral wind chime at the entrance rang again.
She quickly put on her veil. "Sit."
The vibrant evening glow painted the horizon orange-red. The last rays of the setting sun poured into the Medical Clinic, enveloping her slender figure.
"Your hand."
Without looking up, she saw a large hand slowly reach toward her. Without a word, she placed her fingers on his pulse.
Song Lianhe tilted her head in suspicion. The pulse was strong and steady, the rhythm regular. This was a perfectly healthy person.
"If you're not sick, then what are you even here for?!"
She looked up in annoyance and instantly froze.
"Prince!"
