"Is he dead?"
Zheng Fan wanted to grab his hair at this moment, a habitual action he would perform when his comic book plot hit a dead end.
Everyone had been busy all day: ambushing, killing, and running a marathon, only to find that the person they rescued ended up dead?
Was this some kind of joke?
"Let me see."
Blind Bei took a step forward and boarded the carriage.
Zheng Fan also followed him up, while the rest of the group could only stand beside the carriage and watch.
Inside the carriage, Blind Bei placed his hand on Ding Hao's wrist, his eyes closed and his expression serious.
"How is his pulse?" Zheng Fan asked.
Blind Bei sighed, and his expression became even more solemn.
"What exactly happened?"
"My lord."
"Hmm?"
"I am a psychologist."
"...." Zheng Fan.
Blind Bei shook his head and said, "I guess it's hopeless. There's no pulse or breathing."
"So he... he's just dead?"
"Yes."
