He reached out and took the medicine bag from his mother's hand.
With the little light coming in from the door, he carefully opened the oil paper package and counted out three aspirin pills.
Then he leaned over, put one hand gently through his sister's thin neck, which was almost just a bag of bones, and half-lifted her up, leaning her on his not-so-broad shoulders.
"Qingqing," he said in a very soft voice, "Wake up, brother is back, take your medicine."
The body in my arms was as light as a feather, yet incredibly hot.
Fu Qingqing seemed to hear a familiar voice in a semi-comatose state. Her long eyelashes trembled a few times and she opened her eyes weakly.
Her eyes were unfocused and she stared blankly at the dark outline in front of her.
"……elder brother?"
"Yes, it's me."
"I... I had a dream..." Fu Qingqing said with difficulty, her breath weak, "I dreamed of... Grandpa..."
Her words made Fu Zhewei's heart suddenly tighten.
My grandfather has been dead for several years. The old people say that it is a bad sign for people who have been ill for a long time to dream about their deceased relatives.
But his face didn't show any expression: "Don't talk. Take the medicine first."
He carefully put the three pills into his sister's cracked lips.
Fu Qingqing seemed to have lost the strength to swallow, and the pill was left in her mouth.
"Mom, water." Fu Zhawei tilted his head and whispered to Dong Yulan, who was holding a bowl with tears in her eyes.
Dong Yulan quickly came to her senses and carefully brought the bowl to her daughter's mouth.
The warm liquid touched her lips, and the rich, milky and sweet liquid flowed slowly along the edge of the bowl into Fu Qingqing's mouth.
Perhaps it was the body's craving for energy, or perhaps it was the long-lost sweet taste that stimulated the taste buds, but Fu Qingqing, who couldn't even swallow much water, moved her throat and subconsciously began to swallow.
One sip, another sip...
The warm malted milk mixed with the pills slid down her dry throat, like a warm current flowing into her cold and weak body.
After feeding Fu Qingqing half a bowl of malted milk, her pale face seemed to have a faint blush, and her breathing seemed to be smoother.
She lay in her brother's arms and gently licked her lips which still tasted sweet.
"Brother..." Her voice was still very soft, but clearer than before, "What...what did you feed me? It's so delicious..."
The dim light reflected on Fu Zhawei's angular profile. He looked at his sister Cangqi's face, and a complex emotion flashed in his eyes.
He reached out and gently brushed away the sweat-soaked hair on his sister's forehead.
"It's malted milk."
"Don't you drink it often at home? How could you forget the taste so quickly?"
Fu Qingqing shook her head: "I don't remember...Brother, how can I reply? It's only been... a day... How come I can't remember so many things...Brother, am I... am I getting senile and confused?"
"Silly girl," Fu Zhewei reached out and gently wiped away the tears from his sister's eyes with his fingertips. "You're only ten years old, far from old. People with mental illnesses tend to have a poor memory, but it's only temporary."
"Don't think too much, don't talk too much, save your strength. Get some sleep, and when the sweat comes out and the fever goes away, you'll be fine and remember everything."
Fu Qingqing nodded weakly.
Perhaps the medicine started to take effect, or perhaps it was Fu Zhewei's words that reassured her, but a deep sense of fatigue came over her again.
She closed her eyes, and her long eyelashes cast a light shadow on her sallow little face.
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