"Don't move, Qiao Xu, your wound is about to split open."
He spoke softly, his voice hoarse, as he leaned in close to her ear.
Qiao Xu seemed not to hear him, tears welling up more fiercely in her eyes, and her lips repeating the same phrase over and over—
She hated him.
"Qiao Xu!"
"Lu Moqing, Lu Moqing..."
She cried bitterly, a sight he had never seen before. Sober, she was always cold and aloof, always looking down on others with disdain.
This time, when he took away their son from her, it seemed as if he had robbed her of all her faith.
Lu Moqing frowned, a twinge of guilt rising in his heart.
After a while, he spoke softly to the emotionally out-of-control Qiao Xu, who was asleep. "Alright, I'll give the child back to you. I won't take him away. Just lie down and don't move."
Though she didn't acknowledge his words Qiao Xu didn't make a fuss, and her intense emotions gradually subsided. Her expression also softened somewhat.
