The drunkard dared not make a sound, his gaze even more afraid to meet Qing Yi's, like a child who made a mistake, waiting for Qing Yi's criticism.
If he had the strength to run at this moment, he would definitely escape.
Because he really didn't want him to see him in this wretched state.
Finally, Qing Yi withdrew his gaze, pulled a chair over to sit by the bed, and looked at the insulated box on the bedside table, reaching over to pick it up.
He opened the box, took a spoon from the lid's inner layer, stirred the porridge once, then scooped up half a spoonful and brought it to the drunkard's mouth.
These actions, he did with extraordinary stiffness and difficulty.
The drunkard glanced up uneasily at Qing Yi as the porridge reached his mouth, and seeing Qing Yi looking at him silently, he felt very apprehensive inside.
He opened his mouth, taking in the porridge at his lips.
Qing Yi still said nothing, just continued to feed him spoonful by spoonful.
