In the evening, Zhulan sat by the small bed, holding a bowl of carefully stewed medicinal soup, "That's what you get for your craziness, now you've caught a cold."
Chang Zhong spoke with a nasal tone, his little head warm, "Mother, the medicine is bitter."
Zhulan felt a pang of heartache. Her son had rarely fallen ill since his birth, and each illness nearly took half her life, "Drink it down in one go, and it won't be bitter anymore. There's sugar after."
Tears welled up in Chang Zhong's eyes as he closed them and opened his mouth.
Seeing her son drink the medicine, Zhulan hastily gave him some sugar to put in his mouth, "After taking the medicine, you have a good sleep, and when you wake up tomorrow, you'll be fine."
Chang Zhong opened his eyes, "Mother, I miss Father."
Every time he was sick, his father would stay by his side. Now, only his mother was with him!
Zhulan patted her son, "Your father misses you, too. Go to sleep now."
