There was indeed a feeling of having a close sister.
Xie Rong pursed his lips slightly, nodded gently, and sipped the soup in small mouthfuls.
Xie Zhinuan let out a gentle breath.
Almost twenty years old and yet still like a child, his rims turned red when he spoke of sadness, and he cried when he felt like it, it seems his family must have really doted on him.
After lunch, Aunt Chen paid the bill, and only then did the group leave the tea house.
The old grandma watched the departing carriage, feeling a sense of familiarity and surprise.
That kind of carriage material, plus the pair of horses, and the engraved patterns on the carriage, were not something ordinary folks could afford; and the girl who held the child, dressed in brocade, with no ornaments in her hair save for a pair of earrings, whose family did she belong to?
