Zhao Hong's older daughter, her third child, cried and asked, "Mom… did you get beaten up again…"
Zhao Hong forced a smile and walked over with difficulty to pat her child's head. "Be good. It doesn't hurt. Mom is fine. Don't worry…"
"But this part is swollen…" The child reached out and pointed at Zhao Hong's wrist.
If her child did not say anything, Zhao Hong would not have noticed it herself. In her panic, she had used her arm to block the stick just now and her wrist was so swollen that it was almost the size of her palm.
She was already used to such injuries.
"It's fine. Mom will be fine tomorrow! Don't worry, go and sleep now," Zhao Hong said sadly.
After comforting her two younger children to sleep, she dragged her injured body to the courtyard to do farm work. She worked until it was dark and then she prepared food for Old Madam Li before going to do needlework.
