Zhou Guicheng, after learning about the Mu Family's situation, rushed to the town hospital early the next morning.
"Uncle Mu, how could you be so foolish? If you died, how would you face Fei Yan?" Zhou Guicheng lamented with great anguish.
Old Mu had already broken his fever, and after drinking a bowl of porridge in the morning, he was feeling much better.
Looking at the grief-stricken face of Zhou Guicheng before him, he managed a slight smile.
"Your aunt is gone too, what meaning is there left in my life?"
"Uncle Mu, you can't think like that. There is hope only when you're alive. Don't you want to catch the murderer who killed Fei Yan? Don't you want to avenge her?" Zhou Guicheng implored Old Mu.
Old Mu's hand, hidden under the quilt, clutched the sheets tightly, his face showing a sorrowful expression.
"Of course I want to, I dream about it, but so many years have passed, and even the police couldn't find the murderer. What can I possibly do..."
