Qingshan City First People's Hospital, special care ward.
In the ward where Qin Yuan, Qin Zhiwen, Qin Wuya, and Qin Wentian had stayed, the last guest of the Qin Family, Qin Langya, had finally arrived.
On the hospital bed, Qin Langya looked haggard and emaciated. His temples had turned snowy white overnight. Lying on the bed, he appeared like an aged man at the end of his wits.
In the ward, only Qin Wentian was by Qin Langya's bedside, his expression equally somber, absentmindedly peeling an apple.
"Wentian, how are things outside?"
The air remained silent for a long time. Qin Langya's fish-like lifeless eyes finally gained a little spirit, his cloudy eyeballs gently turned a few times, then he looked at Qin Wentian and asked.
Qin Wentian quickly put down the fruit knife in his hand and replied, "Father, now the entire city of Qingshan is in an uproar. After all, before this, no one believed our Qin Family would lose, and lose so badly."
