Thinking about the wounds on his body, Xia Wan'an subconsciously thought about getting up, but before she could move, his burning tone caressed her ear, "An'an, hug me, hug me..."
Xia Wan'an's initial motion to rise instantly stiffened.
His words seemed to transform into numerous fine needles, densely pricking at her heart, causing a tight pain to engulf her left chest in an instant.
She lay on his chest as if her acupoints had been struck, unable to move an inch.
Perhaps because Han Jingnian hadn't received a response for so long, his usually calm and unemotional brow furrowed with a layer of anxiety and anticipation.
His lips, dry from fever, moved again, "An'an, An'an, hug me, hug me..."
His voice was very soft and low, as if afraid to startle something precious he cherished, his tone pitiful like a child begging his mother for candy.
