Ji Yanzhi held him tight, his large hand gently stroking the back of his neck. "I know, I know..."
Although he had never met Aunt, anyone who had raised Ji Ear so well must have been a gentle, tender, yet immensely strong man.
He had never experienced that kind of love, but through Ji Ear, he almost felt the touch of that hand that had offered countless gentle caresses.
Ji Ting buried his face in his shoulder for a long time. He had never let his grief pour out like this. Even when he learned of Aunt's death, his eyes hadn't so much as reddened.
Back then, he had only felt waves of cold wash through his body. His face had gone numb, and something in his chest had seemed to keep forcing its way up his throat.
Only later had he understood that losing family ran through your very blood. Every tug, every moment of longing sent fine threads of pain through your marrow.
Only after an unknown stretch of time did he pull away from Ji Yanzhi, sniffling and keeping his eyes lowered.
Seeing this, Ji Yanzhi turned to pull a tissue from the bedside table and pinched it around his nose. "Blow."
Only after he had balled up the tissue did Ji Ting belatedly raise his eyes. "You wiped my nose. Are you over your germophobia?"
Ji Yanzhi sounded utterly unconcerned. "It's your nose I'm wiping, not someone else's."
The corners of Ji Ting's eyes were still red as he stared blankly at him. His gaze made Ji Yanzhi's ears grow hot. "Did you cry yourself silly? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I never knew germophobia could be selective."
Something flickered in Ji Yanzhi's dark eyes, and he cleared his throat. "Then think carefully