"Jua Ge... ah!"
Ying Mao's voice barely escaped his lips, a fragile whisper that sent an ice-cold dread straight through Jua's veins.
The boy was clutching his chest with trembling fingers.
His face had drained of all color, leaving behind a ghostly pallor that made him seem almost translucent.
The confusion swimming in his eyes—those beautiful eyes that usually sparkled with mischief and wonder—now clouded with something that made Jua's stomach twist into knots.
"Mao Mao?"
Jua's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the boy's small shoulder.
"W-where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts. Is it your heart? Does it hurt again?"
Ying Mao's lips parted, but no words came. Before he could form even the smallest sound, his body went limp, slumping forward with an alarming suddenness.
Jua caught him instantly, pulling the boy's slight frame against his chest.
"Mao Mao!"
