About This Novel
My daughter is sick. Zhao Xiaoqing's daughter was only ten months old. On weekdays, during the period after dinner, I would always lean on the walker and play for a while before going to bed. But today, Zhao Xiaoqing had just put a bowl of fried rice with red pepper in his hand. Before he could take a few bites, the little guy wiped his tears and scratched his face, crying irritably. Zhao Xiaoqing hurriedly threw down the fried rice, carried her daughter from the walker to the bed, took off her daughter's small clothes, put a small pillow on her daughter, stuffed a soft diaper under her bare buttocks, and then covered her with a quilt. After doing all this, Zhao Xiaoqing lay sideways next to her daughter, with one arm around the pillow and the other hand gently patting her daughter through the quilt. He kept saying, "Sleep, sleep, baby, go to sleep..." The little guy finally fell asleep, and Zhao Xiaoqing also took a nap.
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