"Zili... Zili... I am in so much pain... Where are our children... Are they still here... still here?"
Upon hearing these words, Mo Zili's heart ached. Although he did not desire this child, the child was still his bone and flesh; how could he not feel pain?
"Zili, speak to me, our child... is he all right? Tell me," Du Wanqing asked tremulously, her pupils filled with a mist of tears, gazing at Mo Zili with woefulness, fragile as a porcelain doll that might shatter at any moment.
Mo Zili coughed and, holding Du Wanqing's hand, spoke in a deep voice, "Wanqing, the child... is gone. But you are still young; we will have more!"
"No—my child—"
Before Mo Zili could finish, Du Wanqing began to scream uncontrollably, covering her scab-covered cheeks and weeping bitterly. Torrents of tears flowed through her slender fingers, quickly soaking her sleeves.
"My child... my poor child..."
