"Father, don't worry. I will find a way to make more. I know the formula," he said.
He had also read medical books. His father's condition today was exactly as described in the books.
So he was also certain what ingredients were in the chronic poison his father had been taking all along, and he had memorized the antidote formula.
"You've worked hard..." Although the king looked a bit fatalistic, the will to live was human instinct.
He felt a little more at ease, at least they had found the antidote.
"It's my duty," Rowan's eyes moistened again. He was filled with regret and self-reproach. Now it was a race against time, gambling with the god of death.
He guessed the culprit was his uncle, but how could he bring him down?
Being poisoned for years showed he had meticulous plans. Over the years, with his uncle's shrewdness, he must also have accumulated connections and power.
But the most important thing now was to cure his father.
Just then, Rowan's phone rang with a special ringtone. He knew who it was without even looking.
"Father, let me take this call first. I won't go out. Please rest," Rowan said gently to the king, then took out his phone.
"Okay," the king closed his eyes. His body was a little tired, but the pain had significantly diminished.
"Hello, Master," Rowan went to the window and answered softly, glancing at the closed door not far away.
Jennifer asked him, "Are you available now?"
"Yes," Rowan parted his thin lips. "There's something I want to discuss with you. My father's condition is exactly as described in medical books - violent coughing, even coughing up blood, pale complexion but purple lips."
They had both read this book. This description really meant he was on his deathbed, in critical condition.
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