"What did you say?" Su Ziceng looked at Yan Wuxu, whose grief was overwhelming.
"I only found out today," Yan Wuxu twitched uncontrollably, tears streaming down her pale face as she pulled out a death certificate from the handbag she had just brought back.
The report read: *Year* Month* Day, died due to meningitis, persistent high fever, untreatable.
"How could this happen all of a sudden..." Su Ziceng had only met that poor child once, but she had delivered the child herself, and he was her own younger brother. Apart from Su Qingzhang, he was her second kin in this world, and just like that, he was gone.
"The conditions in the mountain village are too poor, meningitis could not be treated," Yan Wuxu saw the sorrow in Su Ziceng's eyes, and while twitching, she said, lifting her face from Su Ziceng's knee a little.
