In the hospital room.
Zhong Jiayou wore a smile as he tried to pull his hand free, but the old man held it tightly.
That rough, wrinkled old hand clasped his smooth, delicate one, making him deeply uncomfortable.
If not for the photos being taken outside, he would never have endured this.
He suppressed his discomfort and waited for the two people secretly taking pictures to give him the signal.
Lying in the hospital bed, Zhong Youcai looked haggard, but he could not resist the heartfelt closeness he felt toward his own grandson.
He kept asking about his grandson's recent life. As though he could not see the other's impatience, he began talking about the past again.
When people grew old, they could not remember recent matters clearly, yet their past remained vivid.
It was as though it had been engraved in their minds. Upon seeing familiar people and familiar places, they would recall scenes from the past.
Everything from those days replayed in his mind frame by frame, like a film.
Overlapping with everything before his eyes now.
"Jiayou, do you remember how weak you were when you were little? You were so frail that I was afraid I'd drop you whenever I held you. Your hands and feet were always ice-cold, and you often got nosebleeds. Every few days, we had to rush you to the hospital for IV drips.
"But your hands were so tender then, and your veins were so tiny that the nurses often couldn't find them.
"No one knew how many needle marks were on those little hands of yours. They just couldn't hit the vein. Whenever you cried, your grandmother would cry beside you too. She would stand there watching the nurse insert the needle, and I couldn't bear to look. I wished