Faced with Yan Feifan's questioning, Shu Lei stammered in a low voice, "I didn't say I forgave them. I just told them they could try asking you."
"After all, when it's a problem with the brain, no one can say they're one hundred percent sure."
Yan Feifan rolled his eyes, his face full of contempt. "You take one step back, and you'll end up taking ten, then a hundred!"
"Uncle, you can't expect bad people to suddenly see the light and become saints. Their begging is just a stopgap measure."
A sudden thought struck Yan Feifan, and he asked, "How did they even think to find me through you?"
Shu Lei's voice immediately rose. "They said they saw it online."
"Some clown actor named Zhang Maoye wrote on his public account that you're a true medical genius. He said you got rid of an incredibly stubborn blood clot in someone's brain with just a few miraculous needle punctures."
"They also said Rong Bin's dementia was caused by a blood clot in his brain."
