"Give it to me," Yan Wuxu's body, which had just sat up, collapsed again due to weakness.
Su Ziceng covered her mouth, tears rolling down and falling onto the baby. Startled by the sudden external warmth, the infant's cries grew louder, as if it wanted to prove to the two women beside him that he was meant to be a healthy baby.
"Please, give the child to me," Su Ziceng's tears, not far away, scared Yan Wuxu.
Wrapped up more tightly, Su Ziceng handed the infant over to Yan Wuxu's arms.
Yan Wuxu looked at the child. "The facial features are truly beautiful, so much like ours." She whispered, singing a nursery rhyme.
The sound of the nursery rhyme was sweet and melodious. Yan Wuxu swayed to her feet, her silhouette appearing helpless, her legs trembling violently, like a wandering spirit or a patient struck with madness. She walked straight toward the bustling street, quickening her pace until, at last, she was running forward with all her strength.
