"Here I come."
The old man was breathing weakly, his voice was faint, and a smile was forced out of his decayed face.
Grayson Ying nodded silently, tucked the quilt for the old general on the sickbed, gently pulled it open a little, and tucked it in again, repeating this process back and forth.
He lowered his head and didn't look at Jasper Meng, as if every glance at the old man would take away the old man's limited life.
"Sir, you are so nervous, is it because of me?"
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