That was the end of it.
That side.
Zhang Weiguo's eyelids twitched, and he finally slowly woke up.
Inside the ward, Shen Xiang had come to relieve Zhang Weimin and told him to go to work.
She stayed by the bedside, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Seeing Zhang Weiguo's eyelashes flutter slightly before he opened his eyes, she immediately became so excited that her voice trembled: "Brother Weiguo, you're awake? Are you hungry? Are you thirsty?"
As she spoke, she hurriedly reached for the enamel cup on the table, spilling water in the process.
Zhang Weiguo opened his mouth with difficulty, his chapped lips almost bleeding.
I felt like there was a lump of burning coal stuck in my throat, it was so dry, and all the bones in my body felt heavy and uncomfortable, as if they were filled with lead.
He wanted to ask himself what was wrong and why he was in the hospital.
But my mind was a complete mess, and my memories were like churned-up paste that I couldn't piece together no matter what I did.
Just then, Zhang Weiguo's pupils suddenly contracted, and he realized something was wrong.
His right hand...
Why can't he feel anything in his right hand at all?
He instinctively gripped the bed sheet tightly with his only remaining left hand, then abruptly turned his head, wanting to get a good look at his right hand.
But instead, he saw an empty sleeve dangling by the bedside, the fabric trembling slightly with the movement.
At that moment, Zhang Weiguo felt as if he had been struck by a thousand volts of electricity, and he froze on the spot, unable to recover for a long time.
When the memories before losing consciousness flooded back into his brain like a tidal wave, and the excruciating, soul-piercing pain of his right hand being crushed by the machine swept over his entire body once more...
"Aaaaaaah!!!!"
Zhang Weiguo screamed in agony, his voice filled with despair and pain, as if it were tearing the sky apart.
"Brother Weiguo!!!"
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