Tang Wanyuan was covered in blood, her consciousness gradually blurring, mountains and hills overlapping in front of her eyes, as if the world were upside down.
Chi Zaozao pushed through the crowd and suddenly lunged to embrace her, hoarsely shouting, "Wanyuan, Wanyuan, are you okay?"
The woman in her arms could only vaguely hear a familiar voice by her ear, as familiar as the most beautiful, most melodic, and most heartwarming song she had heard in her childhood.
It was her.
The little girl.
As she weakly and feebly closed her eyes, a tear gently slid from the corner of her eyes, trickling down her temples and into the palm of Chi Zaozao's hand.
"Wanyuan, hang on, the ambulance is almost here."
Chi Zaozao cried anxiously, watching Tang Wanyuan's blood-covered body, wiping the blood from her forehead with her sleeve while crying out, "Wanyuan, you'll be alright, you must be alright."
