"Ah! He's awake! Dad! He's awake!"
A clear and joyful child's voice rang out.
Song Heping painfully turned his head, seeing a little girl about seven or eight years old, wearing a faded old dress, leaning on the bedside. Her eyes were as clear as the Helgan River, looking at him curiously with a hint of timidity.
Her hair was somewhat dry and yellow, her small face thin, but her eyes were bright.
Soon after, a slim middle-aged man with a weathered, dark face hurried in, holding a chipped coarse clay bowl filled with steaming thin wheat porridge.
"Allah bless! You finally woke up!"
The man's voice was hoarse, with a heavy local accent, but his tone was filled with concern. "Don't move, you're not badly hurt, but still very weak. Here, drink something first."
This man was Faris, and the little girl was his daughter Sayina.
With Faris's careful assistance, Song Heping managed to swallow a few sips of warm wheat porridge.
