Lu Yangui quickly walked to the bed, bent down to pick up the quilt, and covered Han Zhijin with it. She didn't leave immediately but sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Han Zhijin's face with tenderness showing on hers.
Everyone said that Han Zhijin resembled his younger uncle, Han Jingnian, because Han Zhijin's father, Han Jingwen, had been dead for so long that they had all forgotten what he looked like. But she hadn't forgotten; even after so many years, she still remembered Han Jingwen's face clearly.
If it was said that Han Zhijin and Han Jingnian shared a slight resemblance, then it could be said that Han Zhijin and his father were strikingly alike—nine tenths similar. The father and son truly deserved the relationship they had, as if their faces were carved from the same mold, especially as Han Zhijin grew up, he looked more and more like his father.
