Mu Yin held her phone hesitantly for a moment, but finally replied with two words, "Thank you!"
Then she read the message and passed the phone to Zhu Hongyan, with a troubled yet playful expression of a young girl, "Auntie Hong, can you cook me some light millet porridge? I haven't had much of an appetite these days. I used to be able to eat the bird's nest porridge, but now just the smell of it makes me feel sick—I don't know what's wrong."
"No appetite? Are you still not feeling well from your previous illness?" Zhu Hongyan suspiciously reached out to touch her forehead, which was normal in temperature but somewhat clammy.
She was clearly a bit weak.
Mu Yin shook her head, "I don't know, maybe it was catching a chill when I jumped down."
Jumping from such a high building, a normal person wouldn't be able to handle it, let alone her being sick and under such great distress at the time. It was normal to feel unwell.
