Before the sickbed, Su Shu's face was pale and delicate, like a flower silently growing on the edge of a cliff, her fragility carrying an undercurrent of unyielding tenacity.
Shen Han found a chair and sat down beside her.
The medicine in the IV bottle had already gone down by more than half; he looked down at her slender wrist and gently covered it with his hand.
Her wrist was ice-cold, touching it pained his heart.
With the warmth of his palm, the man helped to warm her cold medicine, occasionally caressing her pale cheek, a complex glimmer in his eyes.
After asking the Doctor, aside from her unending unconsciousness, her body wasn't in serious trouble, and the heart Shen Han had been carrying the whole way finally settled down.
But her continuous unconsciousness wasn't an acceptable situation either.
Outside the medical tent, noises buzzed and hummed; he sat for a while and then took out his phone to make a call.
"Another batch of disaster relief supplies for E province."