In this kind of place, in this kind of environment, can Ziyi survive if he comes here?
"My sister brought me here, Dad. I missed you so much."
Song Hao hugged his son who was sobbing softly, and looked up to see the tall figure approaching him step by step.
This height is not right. Zhenzhen is not that tall.
When the person got closer, he could see the person's appearance clearly with the help of the flashlight. His pupils shrank slightly, and he immediately understood what was going on. He asked in a trembling voice, "You are, you are that child?"
Song Yun's eyes were already blurred with tears.
As she thought, the Song Hao in front of her looked exactly like her ex-grandfather Song Hao.
"Dad, I'm Song Yun."
The girl's face was eight times similar to his wife's when she was young. Besides their looks, there was also a subtle sense of blood ties. He subconsciously reached out to Song Yun and said, "Child, your parents are sorry for you. We are sorry."
Song Yun wiped away her tears and walked forward to hold her father's hand. There were many wounds on the palm of her father's hand. Because of the short time, it had not yet formed thick calluses, but it was already very rough. But this hand should have been used to hold a pen!
"Dad, where's Mom?" Song Yun asked and then looked at the wooden bed behind Song Hao. There was a person lying on the bed. His breathing was obviously abnormal and short, and his face was not clear. He must be in bad condition.
Song Yun hurriedly put down the clay pot in her hand, took out a candle and lit it. When the light in the small shed came on, she stepped forward and squeezed Song Hao and his son aside. She sat down on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath to calm herself down, not daring to look at the face in her memory. She lowered her eyes, held the slender wrist, and took the pulse with her fingertips.
Ziyi didn't understand what his sister was doing and looked at Song Hao in confusion. Song Hao had shock in his eyes and quickly shook his head at his son, signaling him to be quiet.
This daughter, whom he had never met, could actually take a pulse? Qingxia's illness— Song Hao's eyes sparkled with hope. He watched nervously as his daughter's fingers rested on his wife's slender wrist, forgetting even to breathe.
About half an hour later, Song Yun withdrew her hand, her face solemn. "Did you have a cough and fever before?"
Song Hao nodded quickly. "Yes, I was frightened in Beijing. I got sick then. I had a bad cough and a fever."
"Have you taken medicine?" Song Yun asked.
Song Hao nodded. "She has. I spent all my money to ask someone to buy her some fever-reducing medicine, but it didn't work. Her fever got worse. Her cough isn't as bad these past two days, but she's become confused and can't even get out of bed."
Song Yun frowned, "It's pneumonia, very serious." Then she looked at Song Hao again, "From the way you coughed earlier, you should have pneumonia too, but the symptoms are milder than Mom's."
When Song Hao heard it was pneumonia, his face changed.
"Well, then, what should we do? Those people won't allow her to go to the hospital for the injection. What should we do? What should we do? What should we do?"
Song Yun held Song Hao's trembling hand and said softly, "Dad, don't worry. Although the situation is not very good right now, we are not in a desperate situation yet. I can treat pneumonia. If you can't go to the hospital, I will go to the mountains to find medicine tomorrow. I will definitely be able to cure Mom."
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