Lu Xiaoyou lay weakly on the bed. Because her body was so frail, as long as she moved even a little, or her emotions got a bit stirred, it was as if she had expended a great deal of strength and had to gasp for breath in great heaving gulps.
"You can go out."
Her voice was like a flower withering away in haste.
"I want to sleep a little longer."
Long Xiliang finally released her wrist, and only then did he see that he had pinched Lu Xiaoyou's wrist red.
He picked Lu Xiaoyou up again and laid her back on the bed, let her lie flat, and tucked the quilt over her once more.
The man reached his hand out again, wanting to rub her wrist, but Lu Xiaoyou shrank her hand back into the covers.
When he went to catch her hand, he grabbed at empty air. He lowered his head and saw Lu Xiaoyou turning her face to the other side, showing him only the back of her head.
A mother who has lost her own child would be heartsick, wouldn't she.
