Zhao Cheng's face was cold, merely following the etiquette to salute his father, then turned to his son, "Go have Zhi take the luggage inside."
Zhao Hu was displeased, "The servants are right here, you should order them to do it, why use the child?"
The eight-year-old Zhao Zheng immediately said, "Grandfather, there are many precious books in the luggage, the servants have heavy hands, if they drop them, it would be bad; let me do it instead."
Zhao Hu said, "Who dares to drop such precious things? I'll beat them to death!"
Zhao Cheng's face darkened, and he yelled at Zhao Zheng, "So many words, hurry up!"
Zhao Zheng turned around and ran off.
Zhao Hu couldn't help but stomp his feet, "Why are you getting angry with the child?"
Zhao Cheng lowered his eyes without speaking, provoking Zhao Hu further, who was about to point at his nose and curse, when a familiar, clear voice rang out, "Cheng is back."
