Little Yang bore a striking resemblance to Old Yang, with an honest and simple face that radiated trust.
Old Yang's wife, on the other hand, was a farmer through and through, always wrapping her head with a scarf. Over sixty years old, she appeared as if she were in her seventies, having endured the hardships of life, her faint gaze seemingly unable to withstand any further blows.
The silvery white hair that covered her head had grown over the span of six months, a decade ago, while she was caring for the sick Old Yang.
Now, their family flickered like a candle in the wind.
Not knowing what to say in the face of this, Xiao He forced a smile as he spoke slowly to Old Yang's wife, "Sister-in-law, it's nothing serious, no need to worry. It's like a small nick, really. You go outside and rest awhile, I need to talk to Little Yang about something."