Earlier when Xin Zimen was unconscious, he was indeed feeling uncomfortable. But it wasn't the discomfort that the fever brought, it was a very familiar aching he felt in his own heart. This ache was the reason, he so suddenly got sick.
He could still recall every little detail about that little daughter of his. With her big black doe eyes, she used to look up at him ardently. Her smile was always the brightest with a hint of mischief and rebelliousness that mirrored her mother perfectly.
Even now, he could hear her cute naive voice calling out to him, "Ah-Xinxin!"
He would always kneel down before her obediently to say, "Lin'er, call me dad."
She would shake her head like a rattle, "No!"
"Then you can call me Daddy? Papa? Pa? Father? Pick anything I won't mind."
The little tapped her chin with a thoughtful expression. She looked adorable with this expression. But her answer was still firm, "Then I pick, Ah-Xin."
