"Three months?" Mo Nanjue narrowed his eyes, a sarcastic look playing at the corners, "How many 'three months' do I have left?"
"If you want, perhaps many," Chen An tried to persuade him, "I'll help you find Tong Ran, you rest easy here. It's run by a friend of mine, he'll coordinate your entire treatment, very safe..."
Mo Nanjue glanced at him, "Can it be cured?"
"...There's a possibility."
"What percentage?"
Chen An's throat choked, his voice somewhat fragmented, "80 to 90 percent..."
"Added an extra zero, huh?"
Mo Nanjue picked up the gun on the table. Having just injected a stimulant, his strength was fully restored, as if he wasn't ill at all. He clenched his fist, visible veins emerging on his long arms, this sense makes him feel secure, "If it can be treated, why would Mo Wenbin be paralyzed?"
"Your situations aren't the same..."
"Yes, it's a matter of paralyzed first or later."
Mo Nanjue pushed him aside and walked out.
