The words "little bastard" made An Hao's heart burn with rage: "Second uncle, don't worry! They say good people don't live long, but the troublesome ones last a thousand years! So, you're still alive!"
"You! Are you trying to anger me to death?" An Baoguo got agitated, clutching his chest and coughing violently.
"Good girl, say a little less! Your second uncle's condition has just started getting better." An Shuchao softly advised An Hao.
An Hao frowned and glanced at An Baoguo: "He doesn't look like someone with a terminal illness at all! Look at his rosy face, how many terminally ill patients have such a good complexion?"
"That's right. I bet after all the eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling outside, he's run out of options, so he thought of coming home to hide?" An Ping indeed hit the nail on the head.
