His head was as heavy as lead, and his throat was so dry that it was on fire. With his eyes closed, Ji Xu could feel the weakness in the bones of his body, as if he had been run over by ten trucks in a row. He wanted to raise his hand to rub his temples, but his arms were too heavy to move, and there was an indescribable bitter taste in his mouth. It was not the bitter taste of coffee that he usually had when he worked overtime and stayed up late, but more like a Chinese medicinal soup that had been stewed for hundreds of years. It was so strong that his internal organs ached.
