Zhang Chu, holding his son who was wailing loudly, ran swiftly as if he weren't holding his son but a ticking time bomb. When he arrived at the production brigade leader's home, the leader's family was having dinner. Eight people crowded around a small square table, not including the children who were running around outside, their meal status unknown—it was certainly a bustling household.
Seeing Zhang Chu arrive, the production brigade leader's wife put down her chopsticks and stood up. As a result, Zhang Chu managed to soothe the little one, Zhang Chiyuan, with a couple of pats, stopping his cries, though his face still bore tear streaks and his nose bubbles of snot. To the unaware, it might have seemed he had just been thrashed by his own father.
