"Awake?"
The door of the ward was pushed open. Bi Xia turned her gaze, and Bi Yuan came in with a bag slung over his shoulder, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying an insulated lunch box. He looked at Bi Xia with a faint expression and lifted the box slightly, "Mom made porridge."
Saying this, he put the lunch box on the bedside table, bent down to help Bi Xia sit up from the hospital bed, carefully avoiding her injured arm. He tucked the blanket corners around her and set up the table on the hospital bed, placing the lunch box on it. Then he turned and adjusted the bed's head to make it easier for Bi Xia to drink the porridge.
Watching as Bi Yuan finished everything, mildly bent over to open the lunch box and poured out the porridge, there was not a hint of impatience on his face. Despite his cold demeanor, Bi Xia could see a trace of nervousness.
