The smell of medicinal soup came up again.
I squatted by the kitchen trash can, holding the edge of the bowl with my fingers, watching the layer of gray-brown residue at the bottom of the bowl slowly solidify. For three years, this bowl of soup has been served to me on time at nine o'clock every night. Xiao Lin said it was a prescription for replenishing qi and blood, specially prepared for me.
Replenish qi and blood?
I twitched the corner of my mouth, threw the bowl into the trash can, and took out the wrinkled test sheet from my pocket.
I took half a day off in the afternoon and secretly went to the private hospital in the south of the city. Lao Zhou is the uncle of my college roommate. When the test results came out, he looked at me for a long time and hesitated to speak.
"Xiao Shen, how long have you been drinking this medicine?"
"Three years."
He sighed and pushed the list in front of me: "Long-term use will lead to chronic anemia and reduced immunity. If you drink it for another half a year, you may not even be able to stand up."
I didn't say anything at the time, folded the list and stuffed it into my pocket, said thank you and left. When I walked out of the hospital, the sky was overcast, as if it was going to rain.
Now standing in the kitchen, looking at the bowl of freshly brewed medicinal soup, I just feel my stomach churning.
There was a noise from the crib, so I quickly wiped my face and walked over. Shen Xingluo turned over, grabbed the corner of the quilt with his little hands, muttered a few words, and fell asleep again. A three-year-old child still sleeps so restlessly.
I bent down to cover him again with the quilt that he had kicked away, and lightly traced his little face with my fingers. The face looks more and more like that person, especially the eyebrows and the bridge of the nose, which are almost carved from the same mold.
"Mom..." He called in his dream.
My heart softened and I kissed him on the forehead.
