"It's a pity, my legs couldn't stand up as you wished—they'll never do so."
Pei Yicheng, leaning against the bed, turned into a sharp hedgehog at the sight of Pei Guozhong, his spikes erect.
"Yicheng!" Du Chang rebuked sternly.
Pei Yicheng turned his head away, his hand inside the blanket ice cold; he knew it was just framed—a layer of glass over it.
The anger that Pei Guozhong had suppressed bubbled up furiously. Clenching his lips and with a stern face, he said, "Wait until you can stand up before you talk."
His gaze fell on Pei Yicheng's legs, and, realizing they were fine, he moved to Du Chang, eased his expression, and said, "Dad, you've had a hard time these days."
"Yicheng is my grandson too; it's no hardship," sighed Du Chang, saying, "Yicheng, he…"