"Cough... Cough cough..."
Grandpa Sun was coughing again. The sound was like a broken bellows, tearing his lungs out with every sound.
I stood beside his bed, holding a bowl of rice soup so clear that you could see the cracks in the bottom of the bowl, and I felt panicked. This was the last grain in the settlement. He ground it again and again, and boiled it again and again, but it still couldn't save his life.
"Xiao Ping, help me up." Grandpa Sun's voice was soft and erratic, as if it would be blown away by the wind at any time.
I quickly put down the bowl and carefully placed a hard straw pillow behind his back so that he could sit up against the wall. He was so thin that I felt like I was supporting not a person but a handful of dry wood.
