"Do you all eat the same food?"
Su Xiaolu asked again. She also knew that the old woman was very sad now. Every time she asked, she would expose her scars, but she had to do this. Only by investigating could she save more people.
The old woman took a deep breath and calmed herself down. She nodded and replied to Su Xiaolu, "Yes, our family eats the same pot of rice. Those days, my eldest son's family also came for a meal. Their family is fine, but my youngest son…"
As the old woman spoke, tears flowed out again.
They could not find any problems with the food, but he had lost his life in vain.
Huang Xingliang sighed softly. As long as there was a plague, such things happened everywhere.
