1830

When Qing 'er returned to the room with the boiled milk, ah Zhen had already changed into his pajamas and was lying on the bed. His tightly bandaged right hand was placed on the head of the bed, and his left hand was holding a phone and making a call.

"No, don't come over now." He sounded a little helpless. I don't want to be disturbed, Qianqian. No, no. Sister Qing 'er doesn't want to be disturbed either. Qianqian, you should be more concerned about daddy and Xiaomu. Qianqian, I should go to bed. You should rest early too. Good night.

He hung up the phone and heaved a sigh of relief. He waved the phone at Qing 'er and said, " my mother. She said she wanted to come and see our Yingluo."

"You didn't tell aunt Jing Tong about your injured hand?" Qing 'er sat on the edge of the bed and handed him the milk. Her eyes fell on his injured right hand.