"I know."
Zhou Ang nodded lightly, took a deep breath, and felt a faint pain in his heart.
"But take a look at this first."
Zhou Ang handed the note to Uncle Fu, who glanced at it and recognized the handwriting as his father's.
"This is the master's handwriting. Where did you find it?" He assumed the note was tucked in some notebook.
"This is the note left for the caregiver by the person who saved me."
Zhou Ang took a deep breath, "You might not believe what I'm about to say, but it's all true. I crossed paths with the person who saved me in the hospital before, his form, his silhouette, exactly the same as in this photograph."
Uncle Fu opened his lips but didn't know what to say at the moment.
"Young master, so you're convinced the master isn't dead, that he's still alive, right?"
Uncle Fu asked softly.
Zhou Ang nodded, then shook his head. He himself didn't know now; his mind was in turmoil.
