"But my grandparents and the doctors and uncles at the hospital all believe in me and cheer me up." Qiu Yang said a lot in one breath with a bright smile, "So I have to believe in myself too."

"There's no point in believing."

Qiuyang didn't blame An Zimo for his indifference, he held his hand with great effort.

An Zimo didn't like to be in contact with others, and just when he was about to refuse to touch him, he saw that Qiuyang was very skinny, and both the back of his hands and wrists were covered with bruises and bruises. This skin had no vitality at all, and was lifeless with only the skin that had been tortured by the disease.

Dry and flat.

An Zimo couldn't help but pursed his lips and raised his long eyelashes.

Qiuyang was suffering, but there was no complaint or unwillingness in his heart. Sunshine was incredibly cheerful.

"How about we make a bet."

"What are you betting on?"

Qiuyang smiled: "If my operation is successful tomorrow, then I win, and you can call me brother."

It's a bit funny.

An Zimo sneered: "What if you lose?"

Qiu Yang thought for a while: "Then I will be your brother." Calling a three-year-old child his brother was Qiu Yang's biggest concession.

"good."

"Then let's pull the hook." Qiuyang stretched out his little finger in a ceremonial manner.

"Childish..." An Zimo muttered, but still put his finger over and hooked it.

It was time to visit the patient. An Zimo jumped off the chair and walked out of the ward. As he left, he couldn't help but look back. In the dimly lit ward, Qiuyang, who was lying on the bed, waved and smiled at him until the door closed.

It was just blocked inside.

An Zimo kept thinking about this bet after returning home, and was distracted whether he was going to school or eating.

Finally holding on until school was over, he took An Xiang and rushed to the hospital eagerly.

The hospital seemed extra empty today for some reason. An Xiang walked along the corridor to Qiuyang Ward and found that the bed was empty and the nurse was changing new sheets and quilts.

She felt strange, more of a bad premonition.

"Ms. Nurse, I'm sorry to ask." An wanted to walk in, "Where is the little boy named Qiuyang in this bed?"

"Died of hepatic encephalopathy last night."

The nurse didn't even raise her head, as if she was talking about eating and drinking.

People die every day in the hospital, regardless of age. It is not a strange thing.

An wanted to take a few steps back and looked behind her involuntarily.

He stood at the door and had not moved even half a step. His eyes were neither happy nor sad, and he stared straight at the empty bed without speaking or blinking.

An Zimo became very silent when he returned.

He sat in the coffin and stared at the small book in a daze.

The first page of the notebook is Qiuyang's notes.

[When I get better, I will go and play with brother Zimo.]

Below is a painting of two little boys holding hands, laughing and playing football in the sun.

An Zimo held the notebook tightly and was not distracted until An Xiang came over and sat next to him.

"Mo Mo, Qiu Yang's grandma invited us to attend the funeral. Are you willing to go?"

An Zimo's eyelashes trembled, he raised his head and said bluntly: "He lost."

An Xiang's expression was suffocated, and indescribable sourness welled up in her heart. Unable to comfort her, she bent down and held her son tightly in her arms.

***

Qiuyang was only six years and four months old when he died, and the medical expenses had not yet been spent. Qiuyang's grandma used the money to organize a decent funeral for the child. The old man cared about the child's young age and had nothing to do except to think about it.

Only a few acquaintances were invited.

Qiuyang had been ill for three years. His parents could not afford the expensive medical expenses and had long since passed away. The two old people raised him with one hand. No matter how sick the child was, they still missed him. Now they miss him.

After thinking about it, they cried until they died in front of the tomb.

The sky is cloudy and the air is stuffy.

Everyone around him was crying, but An Zimo couldn't cry and looked at Qiu Yang's photo on the tombstone in silence.

He still remembers the bet and the smile that has not yet disappeared.

Is life worth crying for?

An Zimo didn't know, he just thought the photo on the tombstone was eye-catching.

The guests all presented flowers, and An Xiang also presented one. Inside the flower was a small handwritten card.

[You are the autumn sun in the world; you cannot see the ice of winter.]

He died in the brightest sunshine, and the wind and snow can no longer wreak havoc on his soul.

"Momo, let's go."

An wanted to hold An Zimo's hand tightly and leave the cemetery one step at a time.

He stopped and looked back. Qiuyang was smiling on the tombstone, staring at him from a distance, smiling just like that night.
Chapter completed!