Fang Hong couldn't help but sigh again. He pressed the back of his hand to Gita's feverish forehead to check the temperature before dampening a new towel for her. Hilveld had informed him not long ago that the little girl had passed the critical phase, which was the only piece of good news of the day.
With that thought in mind, he couldn't help but glance inside—
The back of the carriage was a small compartment, barely spacious enough for two people to turn around. Inside the room, Hilveld was sitting on a wooden chest, with her inseparable leather suitcase by her side. A few books were piled next to the suitcase, all of them knightly romance novels, some even translated from works on Earth.
She was looking down, absorbed in her book, occasionally turning a page lightly, the pages making a whooshing sound.
And as if feeling Fang Hong's gaze, Hilveld looked up with some surprise, her voice crisp, "What is it?"
