More than twenty years ago, my brother's leg failed to be saved due to lack of money.

This time she was rich, but her mother's life was still not saved.

Before my mother died, the thing she was most worried about was the half-knitted sweater.

After taking care of my mother's funeral, my father fell ill again.

It's the same hospital.

It's still the same ward.

My father, who had never worked as a female celebrity in his life, picked up a knitting needle in his hospital bed and took over the unfinished work of his mother.

My father always laughed at himself for his rough technique and ugly weaving, but Du Qing kept praising it for how beautiful it was.

On the plane tree outside the ward.

The little bird was chirping, looking at its newly hatched child.

Even the cicadas were singing loudly to celebrate it.

The sun was shining brightly in the ward, and a gust of wind blew in through the window, ruffling the white curtains.

A knitted gray sweater was neatly stacked at the end of the bed. Under the sunlight, it seemed to be plated with a layer of gold.

In this coming midsummer, Du Qing lost his father.

She left empty-handed and returned with three suitcases of sweaters of various colors.
Chapter completed!