Lu Yichen spoke lightly: "It's not a big deal, really unnecessary. Quickly take the old man home. After all, he's getting on in years and got caught in the rain—going back to soak in a hot bath is what really matters."
The old man held the braised chicken wings Luo Qiao had given him and said to his son: "Chicken wings, delicious. My son's favorite."
Luo Qiao had originally thought the old man wanted to eat them himself. Unexpectedly, even when he was unwell, he still thought about his son liking braised chicken wings. She was deeply moved.
Standing beside the old man, the deputy factory manager's eyes instantly turned red: "Dad, I already ate earlier. These are for you. Let's go home first, all right?"
The old man grinned like a little kid: "Okay, let's go home. I can't find my way home, but we'll go home and eat chicken wings."
Watching the group leave, Luo Qiao looked at the burly Zhou Dahai and shook her head: "Turns out he really is all brawn and no brains."
