Inside the basement clinic of the house, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of rubbing alcohol and the sharp, rhythmic snipping of medical thread.
Chen Yan was hunched over, his hands moving with meticulous precision as he stitched the deep flesh wound on Yang Muchen's shoulder. The doctor was practically vibrating with a mixture of intense exhaustion and frustration.
"I am a world-renowned surgeon," Chen Yan muttered, his voice a raspy growl as he tied off a neat surgical knot. "I pull dead minds out of irreversible comas. I do not patch up reckless CEOs who think it's romantic to use their bodies as human meat shields. Do you know how close that bullet came to your main artery? Two centimeters, Master Yang. Two centimeters, and I'd be planning your funeral instead of wasting my precious, non-existent sleep on you."
