Perhaps it was the rain, but Wen Sheng tossed and turned all night, and when she woke up the next day, her head ached unbearably, and her throat was hoarse.
When she looked up and saw Zhu Qingjia asleep in the chair, a wave of guilt washed over her.
"Jiajia—"
"Sheng sister, you're finally awake?" Zhu Qingjia quickly sat up, instinctively reaching out to touch Wen Sheng's forehead.
Fortunately, her temperature was normal.
Zhu Qingjia, worried about Wen Sheng, had kept vigil by the bed the entire night.
At dawn, she had instructed the servants to simmer some porridge and keep it warm in a thermos. She hoped that when Wen Sheng woke up and had a sip of the warm white sugar porridge, perhaps she would feel a bit better.
"Sheng sister, do you feel uncomfortable anywhere else? I had the servants prepare some porridge; have a little to warm up your stomach." Zhu Qingjia picked up the thermos from the bedside table, unscrewed the lid, and offered it to Wen Sheng.
