The ears were filled with ugly curses.

Song Lingdang could only pretend that she heard nothing, and all her attention was on the child.

But……

"As soon as it gets dark, the child starts crying... crying... no matter how I comfort him... he still keeps crying..."

"Then one day, the child had a fever again... and started crying again at night..."

"That crying sound was so different... I could tell the child was dying... the child couldn't breathe... my child was dying..."

The intermittent sentences were all that Song Lingdang lived through in the months after she gave birth.

She herself had not yet recovered from the tragedy of her parents' death, and yet she had to face a frail baby.

A closed house.

Weak body.

Crying child.

She held the child tightly as if she was clinging to her last hope in life.

If you want to be connected to your child through blood, it would be best if the connection lasts a lifetime.

However……

"That night... I started begging him... begging him to take me to town, begging him to take the child to see a doctor..."

"But they say that it's normal for children to cry... Once they've cried enough, they'll naturally stop crying..."

"It's different... It's really different... I can tell... I can tell... The child is dying..."

Just three simple words: "No way."

It was the extinguishing of Song Lingdang's life fire.

She stopped the time of her life at that night.

After hearing this, Qiao Anle gradually understood what the crying child she had been hearing in the middle of the night was all about.

The crying sound was not made by the child from beginning to end.

But it was Song Lingdang.

It was her before, and it is also her tonight.

After she lost her mind, she unconsciously learned the sound of a baby crying.

Because as long as there is crying, the child is there.

She hugged the wood, and as long as the child cried and made a noise, he was her child.

So lifelike.

She learned it just as well.

The child will cry normally at first...

The child later became weak and almost cried...

It was always on her mind.

The memory is clear and has never faded.

And finally...

"The child stopped crying..."

"That night... the child never cried again..."

"I know... the child is dead... died in my arms..."

Song Lingdang didn't know how much courage it took to say the word "death".

Her hands were tightly grasping Qiao Anle's clothes, and her fingers were almost poking through the fabric.

Song Lingdang threw herself into Qiao Anle's arms, sobbing and crying, tears once again flowing out of her dry eyes.

And that "child"...

He slipped from her arms and lay alone on the bed, watching everything as if numb.

At this time.

Any comfort is in vain.

Seeing Song Lingdang crying uncontrollably, Qiao Anle actually felt relieved.

Because as long as tears flow, it is a way to release emotions.

Compared to numbness and self-deception, catharsis will at least make Song Lingdang feel a little more relaxed.

"Cry, cry... Lingling... Cry if you feel sad..."

Qiao Anle comforted her softly.

Her eyes turned to the string of wind chimes hanging on the head of the bed, and her eyes slowly turned red.