In the 90th ward of the inpatient department on the fourth floor of the eastern operating building, in the silence, a patient with a variety of hang-needle in his hand was sleeping on a cold white sickbed.
He was Zhang Weilong. There was no patient on the other bed in the room. The patient on the bed had just been discharged yesterday, so Zhang Weilong was the only person left in the room with the absolute numbers.
The light in the ward had been turned off. Zhang Weilong, who was in a coma, was like a stone statue, motionless. Only the sound of breathing was telling the surroundings that he was not dead yet.
A middle-aged nurse who was pushing a medical kit slowly came from the other side of the corridor outside the ward. The room with minimal room was almost at the end of the corridor.
