The sun is high in the sky.
But the sky over the capital is dark, the clouds are heavy, the air oppressive, as if a storm is about to break, making the already sultry weather even more suffocating and irritating.
Song Ci fiddled with the prayer beads in his hand, his lips, full of wrinkles, pressed into a straight line. Looking at the gloomy sky, his old face seemed dark enough to drip water.
There's been no sound from the delivery room for a long time, and the servants in the main courtyard dare not speak loudly, tiptoeing as they walk, especially when they see Song Ci's expression, each wishing they could become invisible.
The Lady began to show signs of childbirth late at night, but now several hours have passed, it's almost noon, yet the child is not born. Everyone knows this delivery of Song Madam is very dangerous, who would dare bring bad luck to the family?
"Madam."
A soft call came again from the delivery room.
