The Dishonest Son of the Minister of Dali Temple

Lin Yan's last bit of consciousness was the rusty smell of blood mixed with the smell of disinfectant and vomited from his chest. In front of his eyes was the pale light of the shadowless lamp, and in his ears was the elongated, piercing cry of the heart rate monitor. At the age of 32, a top Chinese forensic doctor worked continuously for 72 hours and finally died suddenly beside the autopsy table in a foreign country. It's... So unseemly. It was one of his few thoughts. … The consciousness rises and falls, as if it has been drifting in warm water for a long time, and it seems like it is just a moment. He had a severe headache, as if someone had cracked open his Tianling Cap with a blunt instrument and filled it with low-quality alcohol. My throat was so dry that it was burning, and my stomach was churning. "Well..." He let out a painful groan and barely opened his heavy eyelids. What catches the eye is not the ceiling of the hospital, but the antique carved top of the bed, with the light blue gauze hanging down, carrying an elegant scent of sandalwood. "Third Young Master! Are you awake?!" A clear female voice with a crying voice sounded in his ears. Lin Yan, no, the memories that appeared intermittently in his mind now told him that he was Shen Jingcheng. The youngest son of Shen Wenyuan, the minister of Dali Temple, was sixteen years old. Yesterday, while drinking and enjoying themselves with a group of dandies in the capital, he slipped and fell into the water. He almost died. He turned his head stiffly and saw a little maid wearing light green armor, with red eyes, looking at him with surprise and joy. "Water……"