The night was ink-black, and flames danced merrily among the firewood, bathing the surrounding trees in warm hues.
Wen Yanyu held his bowl of soup, his whole body bundled in an extra-thick men's padded coat, loose and substantial.
Beneath him was a little low stool hastily assembled from wooden planks.
After taking his medication, his senses felt separated from the world by a membrane. Although he could barely register negative emotions, the dissociation brought on by the medication, along with an indescribable nausea and dizziness, was enough to put him through the wringer.
Wen Yanyu lowered his head, his eyelids growing heavier. His bones ached and tingled, he had little strength to speak, and his hands shook badly.
The temperature at night was far too low.
Cold gusts kept blowing past.
Wen Yanyu raised a hand to rub his still-ringing ears. The tip of his nose was red from the cold, and he drew his lower legs against his chest, instinctively curling into a ball. His already slender body looked even frailer inside the bulky coat.
The mild cold brought on by the forest's drastic temperature changes and his emotional upheaval made Wen Yanyu seem ill through and through.
His hands around the soup bowl kept shaking, as though they had been scalded, or as though he had no strength. Several times, he had to stop and let them settle before he could lift the bowl and continue eating.
That slightly strange, utterly pitiful sight.
It drew repeated glances from the others present, who all looked away whenever Wen Yanyu looked over.
Wen Yanyu paused, his eyelids drooping slightly, then lowered his head and continued drinking his soup.
[Waaah, my baby, don't bully my baby anymore! Why is nobody talking to my baby? Don't do this! My baby! My mom-fan