The sickly little one was adopted by a wealthy foreigner and became a favorite.

But no matter how much Wu Tu cherishes his childhood memories, they are slowly fading away. He can hardly find any memories of his time with his mother anymore.

But from the beginning, the crow longed for maternal love. His longing for his mother helped him through the darkest period of his life. It wasn't until Winston came into his life that he finally learned the truth.

By some strange twist of fate, the black ox survived the most difficult time and finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Perhaps his mother's spirit is watching over him from heaven, protecting him.

Although the little guy is no longer the soft, tiny bundle he used to be, he still crouched down and curled up in front of his mother's grave, looking like a baby who still needs love.

The wind blowing by felt like his mother's hand stroking his forehead.

Wu Tu asked the smiling woman in the photo:

"Mom, did I do a good enough job?"

"Am I someone you should be proud of?"

Wu Tu can no longer remember how his mother protected and cared for him.

In his memory, his mother was only associated with death.

Wu Tu thought that his mother was fragile, but also warm. He couldn't imagine how his mother would protect him, so he could only think that he must protect his mother in the next life.

That's why he suddenly wondered on the podium whether he had grown up yet, whether he had become an adult capable of protecting others.

Was he doing a good enough job?

Winston watched as the black clown curled up into a ball.

This is when Winston is most powerless.

The little guy stayed at the grave for who knows how long, until it got dark, before Winston picked up the black rabbit and carried it away.

He placed the white chrysanthemums he was holding in front of the woman's grave, exchanged a glance with her, and then left with the black rabbit in his arms.

"Go home."

Winston, holding the little one in his arms, noticed that the clothes on his shoulders had become wet.

Winston gently patted the little one's back, soothing him like a mother's lullaby.

If he could, Winston would like to be Ulva's mother, father, friend, confidant, and hero.

He wanted to be all the roles that Wu Tu needed.

Regardless of any definition, he just wanted to be the person the little guy needed most.

When Winston brought the black rabbit back, the little guy caught a cold and developed a fever in the middle of the night.

Helena knew the little guy missed his mother, so she simply stayed by his side, gently stroking his forehead and humming a soft song.

It seemed that as long as he stayed with Wutu like this, he wouldn't be sad and keep crying in his dreams.

Kaylan, who was crouching nearby, watched this scene and stretched out her hand, whispering:

"Me too! I want to be someone my baby can rely on!"

They all seemed to be vying to become the "mother" of the black tu.

As long as I can protect him.

They spared no effort.

……

The little guy had no idea how many times he had changed the hand he was holding last night.

Those hands, some large and some calloused, gripped him tightly, while others gently cradled him.

But each palm was incredibly warm, so warm that it made the little guy's heart burn.

Although she wasn't his mother, she was still the closest and most inseparable family member in his life.

It was the home he never wanted to leave in his entire life.

When Wu Tu woke up, he was still a little dazed. He looked at Winston sitting by the bed and slowly smiled.

"Dad, I had a wonderful dream last night."

I dreamt about my mother.

Winston patted his head: "Hmm."

Wu Tu revealed a very bright smile. Although his family did not say anything, the little guy could feel that everyone was with him.

Winston tucked the blanket around him:

"Your fever hasn't gone down yet, you should get some rest."

Wu Tu nodded. Hearing his father say this, he seemed to realize the hardship and pain of being sick.

I hardly remember what it felt like to be sick.

Winston really took good care of his body.

The large monthly medical expenses, the personalized nutritional meals, and the long-term psychological counseling that has continued for several years.

That fragile body that used to be so fragile that it would collapse at the slightest breeze can now at least run, jump, and feel like an ordinary child.

Even the scars on her body are gradually disappearing, returning to their original pure white appearance.

So now, even the smallest illness seems much more serious to the little one than before.

It seems that it is because his father treats him too well that he has become so spoiled.

He vaguely remembered that when he was a child, catching colds and fevers was common, his stomach always hurt like it was being pricked with needles, and in the summer there was no air conditioning, so it was unbearably hot. In the winter, his limbs were so cold that they were stiff. He had never experienced the feeling of warmth.

But he was really good at enduring it back then.

Modern children can't understand why they were so patient when they were young, never crying or making a fuss, and just managing to get through it all on their own.

He has really become spoiled now.

Even a minor fever feels magnified infinitely.

My throat is so dry, my nose feels so uncomfortable, my head is spinning, I feel nauseous, and I feel unwell all over.

He kept asking his dad to come and put an ice pack on his head, then he asked his dad to pour him water, and then he kept whining and asking his dad to come and pat his head.

Even a simple fever makes him feel so wronged that he's about to cry.

It's incredibly fragile.

However, his family did not think it was a small matter, nor did they say he was being dramatic.

Everyone was on high alert; almost all of them took leave and came in every now and then to take the little one's temperature.

The housekeeper looked at everyone who was worrying unnecessarily:

"Stop taking the young master's temperature. If you keep lifting the blankets, he'll catch a cold and his fever will get worse."

But Kaylan was still making a big fuss:

"It's already 39 degrees Celsius! It'll burn! What if it burns my only precious baby to death?! I'll make everyone in the hospital pay!"

Cyrus, standing nearby, said coldly:

"Can you stop watching web series with the little guy all the time? What are you doing watching him die? I think you need to get your head clean."

At this moment, Wutu silently raised his hand:

"Cyrus, please stop making me ice. It's so cold, colder than the ice rink..."

Cyrus was a little angry: "Shut up! You're already 39 degrees!"

The black cat had no choice but to say those words:

"It's just a slight fever... I'll be fine after lying down."

"only?!!!"

Everyone raised their voices in unison.

Richard sighed helplessly, "Honey, when are you going to start paying more attention to your health?"

The concept of patience held by the crow is something we simply can't discuss with them:

"But it really is just a minor problem..."

Richard: "A fever can damage your immune system, has a chance of causing serious inflammation, and some people die from fever..."

"Honey, you're sick, you should rest. Don't be ashamed to rest, okay?"

"We are your family, it is our duty to take care of you."

Wu Tu buried the lower half of her face in the blanket and nodded in a muffled voice.

After the housekeeper kicked them out, the little guy turned over, tears silently sliding down his temples and onto the pillow.

He raised his hand and said silently:

Why are you still crying when you've already gotten used to it...?