Amidst his blurred consciousness, Jiang Jinyan recalled something from a long, long time ago. How old was he that year? Three? Four? For as long as he remembered, his mother—Guan Xiaoxiao—had always been an obsessive and unstable woman.
He had a high fever at that time, shivering incessantly as he huddled under the blanket when hazily, a cold, comfortable and soft sensation fell upon his forehead. Just by a single touch, he could already feel the affection oozing from it.
Yet when he woke up, there was no one by his side as if everything was just a mere pipedream.
He could still remember how torturous he felt back then. It was just like now. Like he was being burned in a furnace in one second before drowning into a frozen lake in the next second. Sweat layered his skin and his breath was boiling hot although his teeth kept on chattering from the chill.
