"Why would you think that?"
Fu Xi Ancestor's face filled with sorrow. He said, his voice laced with pain:
"Xiaoxuan, have you forgotten the day I found you in the heavy snow and brought you home, the hot porridge I made for you? Have you forgotten that I seized the fragments of Taiyi's Donghuang Bell and turned them into your opportunity to dream of Ancient Times?"
He seemed tragic and dejected, the rims of his eyes turning red.
"Or have you forgotten the sweater I knitted for you with my own hands when you were ten? Or do you no longer remember when you had a fever at fourteen, and I ran through the pouring rain, kowtowing everywhere, begging for medicine for you?"
Lu Xuan fell silent.
He gently closed his eyes.
"Grandpa Fu, I've never forgotten. It's just..."
