Staring at the unconscious Jiang Zhaohe with a coffee mug tightly clamped in his palm, Xinyuan forced his muscles to lock.
He consciously tried not to put too much pressure on the glass to avoid shattering it into pieces, but the frustration burning in his chest was agonizing.
It felt exactly like he was going through withdrawals. As he was being ripped away from his favorite drug and forced to survive without him.
His left eye glowed a dim red. And apart from the black chain markings that had wrapped aggressively all the way down his forearms, a grave aura of raw hostility oozed out of his body. Yet, he was maintaining a semblance of control.
Right then, Doctor Ruixin stepped into the lab. Judging by the lack of surprise on her face at seeing him there beside Zhaohe, it was obvious this had become routine.
"Is she awake?" the doctor asked quietly.
