"Get up," Fang Tianze waved his hand, motioning the maid to step aside.
"Zeze," the woman rushed over to support her son.
"Mother," Fang Tianze patted the woman's hand, "this illness of mine is now in the hands of fate, so please, don't be angry with anyone."
"All right," the woman nodded hastily, her tears starting to fall uncontrollably. She only had this one son, yet the doctor had pronounced he wouldn't live past fifteen. What was she to do after that?
With an apologetic look, Fang Tianze turned to Yang Ruxin, but paused for a moment when their eyes met, then gave a light smile, "I'm sorry, sister. My servant was just... worried about me..."
This was an extremely frail and weak little boy, with a beautiful face, especially those eyes, pure as... as the skies of Tibet he had once seen...
At that moment, those pure eyes were looking at her apologetically.