The small hand on his forehead was ice-cold and soft. Bo Yan usually disliked being touched by others, and at first, he was taken aback, then he thought about pushing her hand away.
Yuran reacted quicker than him, removing her hand, "Xiaoqi, you seem a bit feverish. Should I make some porridge for you first?"
"Baby, what's wrong with your Xiaoqi?" At that moment, Bo Yan's mother came out of the kitchen with soup and asked upon seeing the two in the living room.
She put down the soup in her hands and walked over. Bo Yan's mother rarely saw her son looking so listless and exclaimed, "Xiaoqi, are you running a fever?"
Bo Yan had always been in good health and rarely got sick. In his mother's memory, there weren't many times she had to take care of her son when he was ill.
"Baby, help your Xiaoqi to the room to rest for a bit. I'll make him some porridge. This soup isn't suitable for him. I'll also call the family doctor to come and check on him!"