Xiao Yue left, but Zhang Zhonghe lay down again.
Tossing and turning in bed, but unable to fall asleep.
He wanted to confide in someone, wanted to share, but subtly felt in his heart that this event was so strange that telling others might not be good.
He was already fourteen years old, naturally understood these things, but obviously had to tell his parents; otherwise, there was no way to explain how his illness suddenly got better.
Thinking of this, he turned over and got out of bed, came to the foldable bed, and gently pushed his father, Zhang He Ping.
"Dad... Father..."
No matter how he pushed or called, his father didn't respond, making him a bit worried.
He put his fingers under his dad's nose and felt his breathing, which made him sigh in relief.
He was genuinely worried his dad might have just dropped off.
Recalling Xiao Yue's words earlier, he stopped trying to wake his father.
