Nan Zhan returned to Jian Si's hospital room, where Zhengzheng was sitting by her bed reading a book, marking the seventh day of Jian Si's coma.
"Am I disturbing you?" Zhengzheng lifted his head, "I can make myself scarce."
Nan Zhan smiled: "Why would you?"
"Your pocket looks bulging, and judging by its shape, I can guess what it is." Zhengzheng blinked, "I've got my eye on you."
Nan Zhan ruffled his head: "You little imp."
After Zhengzheng left, Nan Zhan touched the pocket of his trousers with a smile. It seemed that his son had seen right through him, so there was no point in hiding it anymore.
Nan Zhan took a small box out of his pocket and sat in front of Jian Si to open it.
