Lu Jiang handed his younger son to his wife, walked out, and opened the door to see Li Shuitian, his face full of scars and his expression haggard.
"Shuitian, come in, it's cold outside."
It had just entered December; how could it not be cold? But no matter how cold it was outside, it couldn't be colder than the chill of human hearts.
Li Shuitian followed Lu Jiang through the gate but didn't enter the house, "I'm covered with cold air, so I'd rather not come inside."
Zhuangzhuang was frail and often ill, and everyone was very careful. During winter, anyone carrying the chill would not go near Zhuangzhuang.
"Even if you are carrying the cold air, you should come inside and warm up," urged Lu Jiang, pulling him directly into the hall. There was a stove burning in the bedroom, and even the living room felt warm and cozy, instantly melting away the chill on and in Li Shuitian's heart.
Seeing the concern on Lu Jiang's face, Li Shuitian felt a pang of emotion in his eyes.
