Wen Mian lay quietly on the hospital bed, her complexion much rosier than before, no longer the worrisome pallor. Her breathing was even and steady, as though she were in the midst of a beautiful dream.
Pei Zhiyao's hand was still tightly clasping hers, his persistence and deep affection touching.
Suddenly, Wen Mian's finger on the hospital bed twitched slightly.
The previously unconscious woman's eyelids fluttered lightly, as if she were struggling to open them.
The surrounding environment became quiet, with only the soft ticking of machines, and the occasional sound of vehicles passing by outside.
The indoor light was soft, caressing the white walls, and the twilight's afterglow left faint yellow traces on the wall.
This warm-colored setting imparted a sense of warmth and tranquility.
At the bedside, a bouquet of flowers bloomed quietly, their petals still bearing the sparkling droplets of water, as if marked by morning dew.
