"Hey, girl. What are you thinking about? I've called you a few times now."
Widow Xie waved a hand in front of her face, a little puzzled. "Why are you so curious about Mrs. Meng?"
'I'm not curious about Mrs. Meng,' Ji Huan thought. 'I'm curious about her son.'
But she could only think that, not say it aloud.
"Her family's been in the spotlight lately, so I was just curious. By the way, Aunt Xie, how is Old Man Ji doing?"
As expected, Widow Xie's attention was successfully diverted.
"If you ask me, he had it coming. His most precious son angered him so much he had a fit. It's a good thing it wasn't serious…"
After hearing Widow Xie's description, Ji Huan guessed that this so-called "fit" was probably what would be called a stroke in later eras.
The left side of his face was stiff, the corner of his mouth drooped, his coordination was poor, his legs were weak, and he needed a cane to get around.
These were all classic aftereffects of a stroke.
