Xu Zhijun's mother had been sick for a long time and had developed multiple underlying conditions; they had done all they could, and just keeping her breathing was an achievement.
The way back to the dorm wasn't far; Xu Zhijun stayed in his small room, sitting in a chair, lost in thought.
It wasn't just about his mother that he contemplated incessantly—it was that unfinished pig's trotter.
The pig's trotter, emitting a glossy, oil-shiny allure.
He thought about it until his mouth watered, endlessly swallowing saliva.
But his intellect told him that everything Li Qingshan said was right.
Xu Zhijun's facial muscles stiffened, hardly able to make many expressions.
The more he thought about the pig's trotter, the more he felt lifeless within, seeing himself as utterly helpless and unsuccessful.
"What time is it, and you're still thinking about the pig's trotter!" he berated himself fiercely.
