Meng Chenghui looked An Zhihan up and down, unable to believe his eyes. From what he'd heard, An Zhihan had injured his spine and suffered damage to various internal organs. He had almost died back then. According to the doctors' prognosis at the time, it would have been a blessing from his ancestors if An Zhihan could even live to be thirty or forty in a wheelchair.
But the person standing before him now didn't look sick or weak in the slightest.
An Zhihan nodded at Meng Chenghui. "I was lucky. I met a benefactor, and my legs have been healed."
An Zhihan didn't know Meng Chenghui well, but they had met a few times in Xiangcheng. Although An Zhihan disapproved of Meng Chenghui's romantic history, he didn't let it show, keeping his words and expression indifferent.
"Incredible. Where did you find such a brilliant doctor?" Meng Chenghui was still amazed. Then, his expression suddenly turned serious. He looked at An Zhihan and Su Qing, frowning slightly. "You two know each other?"
