At this time, only Aunt Fang insisted on daily washing the comatose Chen Biyue, regularly opening doors and windows to ventilate, and tidying the room.
That day, when Aunt Fang opened the window in the morning, a cold gust of wind suddenly brushed past her body.
Aunt Fang couldn't help but shiver.
She looked up at the sky, puzzled—it's clearly a sunny day, isn't it?
Worried that the cold wind might chill the young master, Aunt Fang stood by the window for a while longer, ensuring that the gust was just accidental, before leaving her position.
Walking to the bedside, Aunt Fang looked at the handsome man whose face appeared pallid from long-term bedridden, and sighed: "Young master, you really need to wake up quickly. Even us old folks can feel that the atmosphere at home has been quite strange lately. If you don't wake up soon, I'm afraid it won't be peaceful here anymore..."
Aunt Fang is not worried about herself; if worse comes to worst, she could just leave.
