The girl's cries were piercing, her voice cutting into Cui Xiaoman's heart like a knife.
"Let Ranran in." They had their daughter late in life, and she was Cui Xiaoman's only child.
The dutiful husband, worried, said, "I'm afraid she doesn't understand how to be careful, and if she touches..."
"Let her in!"
"Alright, alright, lie down and don't get upset; your body needs to rest in peace," Dong Meng dared not say more.
The lock was opened, and a girl no older than five or six years old burst in.
Her face streaked with tears.
"Mom, what's wrong with you, why aren't you going to the hospital? My teacher says you have to go to the hospital when you're sick."
Cui Xiaoman used all her strength to finally lift her hand with difficulty.
Gently touching her daughter's cheek.
Her fingertips were burning, covered in crisscrossing wounds.
"Ranran, Mommy... Mommy is going to die."
The girl wiped away her tears, not fully understanding the meaning of death.