Zhuang Hong frowned and realized that there was nothing he could do. He pulled his hand out of Cen Shuang's grasp and gently lay back down on the bed. He placed his other hand on her forehead. The heat on her forehead had not dissipated, and her petite face was burning red.
Zhuang Hong said in a low voice, "You should rest well when you're sick." His voice was like a calming tune. The small woman next to him leaned into his embrace and slept peacefully.
When she woke up the next morning, her cold seemed to have mostly subsided. Cen Shuang opened her eyes and looked at the man lying in front of her. Her thoughts seemed to stir. She was afraid that last night had been the result of a fever dream. There was no way that she would have seen Zhuang Hong open his eyes and apply medicine on her back, right?