Yuanbao looked at the father and son in front of him. The little fellow was very clingy, holding onto Song Wei's right arm with both hands, looking up as if he had just been saying something.
The man's tone was gentle, exceptionally patient, answering every question his son asked, clearly and without hesitation.
Suddenly, Yuanbao recalled many years ago when he, too, stayed by Song Wei's side like this.
Those big hands of the man, not only could they write with a pen, but they also used to help him get dressed, bathe, feed him meals, and even hold him to pee.
Now, with the gentle attention transferred to another little fellow, Yuanbao felt a subtle emotion emerge in his heart, like a sense of loss, or perhaps something else.
"Yuanbao?" Song Wei called out again when he saw him not speaking.
Yuanbao snapped out of it, shook his head, "It's nothing. By the way, have you seen the doctor? Is your injury serious?"
"It's not serious."
