These words flowed rapidly from Gu Lanshan's mouth, and they involuntarily brought various images to Han Chengchi's mind.
The harsh winter season, in the dilapidated courtyard where Gu Lanshan sat by the well helping her mother wash clothes, her tender, fair hands turning bright red.
She stood under the eaves at the entrance to the courtyard, cooking over a coal stove, surrounded by swirling coal smoke, which caused her to keep turning her head and bending over coughing deeply.
And how his mother had told him that in the days when she had pneumonia, Gu Lanshan had taken leave for several consecutive days to accompany her to the hospital for IV drips, caring for her, and she had wisely instructed his mother not to tell him so as not to impact him.
Actually, he knew that it was not because Gu Lanshan feared affecting him, but because she simply did not want him to know about all the things she had done for him.
As she said, he and she were truly not that close.
