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Ling Hua woke up from her sleep feeling anything but rested; the sweet dreams that had previously lulled her into deep slumber seemed to have deserted her.
Clutching her blanket, she sat on the bed, wondering how she had ever managed the sixteen years without Yan Qing by her side.
In those years, apart from when she was feverish, sleep was never a problem. She would wake up and go about her day with ease.
Even if she was sick and feverish, she would feel miserable only during the worst of it. After her fourth brother had finished reading a picture book to her or telling her a story and her fever subsided, she would no longer feel unwell and would sleep soundly.
But last night, although her fever had subsided early on, she hadn't slept well in the second half of the night. She felt an emptiness by her side, as if someone was missing—a warm embrace, the fresh and pleasant scent of someone, it all felt amiss and uncomfortable.
