"Xiao Moli." An Ziqi softly called her name, but there was no response.
She panic-strickenly helped him sit up, finding his eyes tightly shut, his face completely devoid of color. Frantically, she reached out to touch his forehead. It was blazing hot and frightening.
She strived to control her panic and undid his clothes and scarf to check the wound.
For some reason, the wound had become alarmingly infected and was beginning to show signs of gangrene.
An Ziqi fought against tears, her hands trembling as she used snow to clean the area around the wound before rewrapping it.
She then leaned him onto herself, scooping some snow to gently wipe his forehead to cool him down.
Her hands were blistering from the cold, but it proved to be useless. By noon, Xiao Moli's breathing became increasingly rapid.
"Xiao Moli, wake up, please. You promised to always be by my side, you made a promise to me..."
