She was envious of Ming Jing's unflappable demeanor, never perturbed nor anxious, as if in the whole world, there was not a person or thing worthy of her attention.
She had no love, nor hate.
Forever aloof and above, not looking down on the dust below.
Admit it, Zhu Xiangxiang, you've been like a hopping clown all this time, just wanting to get her attention.
Just when her heart was filled with mixed emotions, the door to the sickroom opened, and a plump old woman walked in carrying a bucket of food. As soon as she saw Zhu Xiangxiang, she rushed over: "Xiangxiang, what happened to you?"
"Madam Zhou..." Zhu Xiangxiang looked at her in a murmur, unable to hold back her tears.
The two of them held each other and cried.
"Xiangxiang, don't cry. Madam Zhou made your favorite pork rib soup. We'll drink it, and after that, your wounds won't hurt anymore," said Madam Zhou as she opened the thermos and scooped the soup into a small bowl.
