When the doctor arrived, Leng Youchen had already changed Wei Anning into dry clothes, blow-dried her hair, and tucked her into bed. The little one, nestled in the covers, had cheeks burning red with fever, yet she claimed to feel cold—it tore at his heart.
He sat by the bed, irritated, extending his hand to nudge her forehead, "Now you know it's uncomfortable. What were you thinking getting caught in the rain? Why are you so stubborn? If I don't pay attention to you, would you really wait for me in the garden forever?"
"Cold..." Wei Anning grabbed his large hand and held it to her chest, seemingly finally comfortable. Her eyebrows relaxed, and she spoke intermittently, "Leng Youchen... I really didn't mean it... please forgive me."
Silly girl!
Leng Youchen's gaze softened. She was still worried about his forgiveness even with her fevered confusion—where did this stubbornness come from?
