Chapter 82
Liguang gave birth.
A girl, five pounds and seven ounces, with a cry so loud it seemed to tear the roof off the delivery room. When the nurse brought her out, my hands were shaking so much I could barely hold her.
Liguang lay on the hospital bed, her hair soaked with sweat and clinging to her temples. She looked pale, but she was smiling like a child.
"Aqi, look at her," she said in a hoarse voice. "She has my eyes."
It was true. Those eyes hadn't fully opened yet, but you could faintly see that the left eye was lighter and the right eye was darker—she had inherited her mother's heterochromia.
I gently placed my finger in the baby's palm, and she immediately gripped it tight.
"She's so small," I said, my throat tightening.
"She'll grow up," Liguang said softly, "into a little girl who clings to you just like I do."
We named her Fang Xing. It came from Liguang's favorite word, "Xingxing" (stars).