Facing such an astonishing result, Old Xu suddenly laughed and said, "Yingtao, stop kidding me. You must have colluded with my son to trick me."
"Uncle Xu,"
Yingtao said with a wry smile, "With your son's original intelligence, how could I have colluded with him? Don't you know your own son?"
The smile on Old Xu's face suddenly turned serious, and just then, Xu Xin tossed the chalk aside, clapped his hands, turned around to see Old Xu, and exclaimed in surprise, "Dad, when did you get here?"
Old Xu lifted his head to look at his son.
Standing at one meter eighty, with a well-proportioned and strong body, and also quite good-looking, Old Xu had often thought over countless days and nights that if his son didn't have a problem with his brain, he might have already been holding his grandson by now, with four generations under one roof—a traditional family's ultimate dream.
"Dad, why aren't you speaking?" Xu Xin asked with a smile.
