Widow Wang stood straight beside the bed, staring at Doctor Bai with her eyes fixed. There seemed to be two bright flames hidden in her eyes, full of eagerness and expectation.
Her lips trembled slightly, and her voice was filled with a hint of uncontrollable excitement as she asked again, "Doctor Bai, Ermao doesn't have the plague, right?"
Doctor Bai looked at Widow Wang's nervous and expectant expression, and a gentle smile suddenly spread across his face. He nodded vigorously and said with certainty, "Yes, Ermao doesn't have the plague. This child is very lucky. The fever has completely subsided, and he hasn't shown any symptoms of the plague. Don't worry."
When Widow Wang heard Doctor Bai's certain words, the heart that had been hanging in her throat instantly fell back into her stomach.
In an instant, tears flowed from her eyes unconsciously and slowly slid down her cheeks.
In those tears, there was relief after the extreme worry of the past night, there was relief that his son had escaped the disaster, and even more gratitude for God's favor.
But even though tears were flowing freely, her face was full of a bright smile. That smile was so sincere and so cheerful, as if it was a flower that finally bloomed brilliantly after going through wind and rain.
As she wiped her tears, she murmured to herself, "That's great, Ermao, you didn't get the plague. Thank God, we can all survive and don't have to worry anymore."
As she spoke, she couldn't help laughing, turned around and hugged her still sleeping son tightly, as if she wanted to pass on the joy of regaining what she had lost to her son through the hug.
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