Otherwise, Midnight could not imagine what sort of parents could bear to abandon a little boy like him.
He certainly could not have borne it.
Inside the cramped room, the dying children huddled together.
They were all sallow and emaciated, weakened by terminal illness.
Midnight held Glutinous Rice Ball in his arms, the toddler's warm body steadily passing its heat to him.
The child's sweet, pleasant scent drifted faintly into Midnight's nose.
He began to cough, bright red blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.
"You know, I heard that doctor in white say I only had a common cold. That's the easiest illness to cure..."
The doctor in white was probably the assistant who brought their meals.
"But now I'm about to die. Do you think... they just don't want to treat me...?"
Little Midnight did not understand that when he caught his cold, the people at the Orphanage had not given him timely treatment.
Over time, what had once been a minor cold became an incurable illness.
His voice grew fainter and fainter, as though he were crying out from some distant shore.
"Am I going to die...?"
By the time the assistant came in to check on them, Midnight showed no signs of life.
His icy hand clutched No. 001 tightly.
"What happened to him?"
No. 001 asked.
The assistant looked up in astonishment. In all the time he had been coming here, this was the first time he had heard No. 001 speak.
"You're not mute?"
No. 001 frowned. "What's mute?"
"Uh," the assistant said, shaking his head and choosing to answer his first question. "He's stopped breathing. He's probably dead."
"Dead?" No. 001's dark eyes shone especially brightly in the darkness, like a pearl glimmering with light.
"What does dead mean?"
The assistant thought