Li beixiao's face turned cold and he was unhappy, but he still endured it. His illness was the most serious.
"Are you hungry?" Thinking of the porridge that he had cooked, li beixiao was a little nervous.
He was afraid that ye qingge would say that she was not hungry and did not want to eat ...
"I'm hungry! Little uncle, I'm going to cook a bowl of noodles, do you want some?"
Ye qingge looked at the towel that li beixiao had placed on the bedside table. She knew that he had been taking care of her.
"You stay here, I'll get you some porridge!"
A happy smile appeared on the corner of his mouth. It was faint, but it was so clear, as if he wanted the whole world to see it.
Looking at li beixiao's back, ye qingge's hand under the quilt suddenly loosened.
It was something she had held tightly ever since li beixiao fed her water, as if to remind herself not to sink into such tenderness.
