: Mommy, I am feeling cold…
Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios
To say that he did not hold any attachment to her would be a lie, except that it was difficult for him to accept the cold, hard fact at such a tender age.
He dared not believe that the normally gentle Mu Wanrou was actually among those who had thought up of this scheme.
More than that, she even poisoned Grandmaster Mu!
Does she know how much grandpa has doted on her?
She was the apple of his eyes—someone whom he held delicately in his heart.
She actually still poisoned him… How ruthless could she be?!
In his simple world, he was unable to imagine that a person could be so heartless!
What was more regretful to him was that he had acknowledged a ruthless imposter as his mother all these years.
At this moment, he could not forgive himself!
There was much guilt and shame toward his real mother, too.
The scar-faced brought in a bowl of congee and passed it to the two inside the cell.
“Feed him!” he barked, expressionless.
Yun Shishi looked at him warily and finally dropped her doubtful gaze at the bowl of congee.
The man seemed to guess what was on her mind and retorted coldly, “Don’t worry; there’s no poison in it.”
She furrowed her brows dubiously.
The kindness from this man had put her on guard, instead.
The man merely snorted without a word.
This bowl of congee was prepared by him earlier. Rather than keeping it for himself, he passed it to the mother.
He sat down heavily in the chair, lit a cigarette, and took a drag.
After a while, he said, “Feed him quickly. If not, it’s gonna turn cold!”
Pouting, the woman held up the bowl and took a mouthful.
Pausing for a good moment to see if she had developed any strange reaction, she only started feeding the boy once she was sure that there was none.
She held him up with some difficulty and fed him one mouthful. The boy was in a half-conscious state where he did not even have the strength to open his mouth.
In the end, his mother had to gulp in a mouthful of congee, slowly bring it to the side of his lips and push it in his mouth from hers.
A mouthful of lukewarm congee slid down his throat smoothly, which finally warmed him mildly.
“Mommy…” The boy moved his throat and cried out weakly.
“Eh! Mommy’s here. Little Yichen, let mommy feed you some congee, alright?”
He struggled to open his eyes. “Mommy, how are your wounds? Are you still in pain?”
He sounded anxious and vexed.
His mother shook her head as she tried to hold back her fear and sadness. “Yichen, good boy. Mommy isn’t in pain; I’m not in pain…”
“Mommy, I’m feeling cold…”
As his blood circulated, his body temperature dipped gradually.
She immediately hugged him closer.
“Are you still feeling cold?”
“Eh… a little cold…”
The boy shivered a little in her embrace.
The underground warehouse was submersed in cool, damp air by now.
As he had lost much blood as well, his peripherals started to turn cold and clammy.
His mother fidgeted anxiously, not knowing what to do next.
The scar-faced man sipped his lips, threw down his cigarette butt, and snuffed it out with his foot before walking
up to the two to toss them the jacket he was wearing.
The woman quickly fetched it and then covered her son with it.
It was a thick and long trench coat.
The boy’s face eased somewhat after she had covered him with the trench coat.
She then fed him the congee intermittently.
He finished the bowl of congee dutifully and managed to regain some color.
As for his mother, she continued hugging him closely in this manner.