Sure enough, had his son's mood gradually recovered with time?
A faint smile seeped into the old lady's eyes.
But soon, the old lady sensed that something was wrong.
"Zhou Zhou?"
The old lady walked over to the bed. "Why do you look so pale?"
"It's my leg—"
The old lady's voice cut off abruptly, and she cried out in alarm. "Zhou Zhou, what happened to your face?"
"How did you get hurt?"
The loud voice ringing right beside his ear finally brought Zhou Mingbao's unfocused gaze back together.
His mind, which had fallen into blankness, gradually filled with sounds and images.
"...Mom?"
Zhou Mingbao murmured.
"Zhou Zhou, what's wrong?"
The old lady looked worried.
"How did your face get hurt?"
"How did you get injured?"
His face?
Somewhat puzzled, Zhou Mingbao reached up and touched his face.
Then he raised his fingers before his eyes.
They were speckled with blood.
Ah, he really was injured.
When had that happened?
Zhou Mingbao's mind worked somewhat sluggishly.
Several seconds later, he remembered the terrifying thunderclap and the fragments that had flown over with it.
"I was cut by the fragments."
Zhou Mingbao murmured.
Yet in the quiet room, the old lady heard him clearly.
"Cut by the fragments?"
"How did you get cut by fragments out of nowhere?"
"And where did they come from—"
The old lady's wandering gaze suddenly stopped. "Zhou Zhou, where's the bowl that held the apples?"
"I threw it out."
Zhou Mingbao answered honestly.
"Threw it out?"
The old lady was startled. "Why—"
But after uttering one word, the old lady shut her mouth.
What did it matter why?
Her son had been in a bad mood. It wasn't as though this was the first or second time he'd smashed something.
"Next time, use