Zhao Ming paused for a moment and then said, "Let me know if there's any news from the paper mill."
Feeling somewhat uncomfortable sitting, he stood up to bid farewell, "I'll head back now."
Zhao Hanzhang instinctively tried to hold him back, "Uncle, won't you stay for a meal before leaving?"
"Dinner?" Zhao Ming glanced at her and asked, "Shall we just sit around for the rest of the day?"
Zhao Hanzhang fell silent and, taking Fu Tinghan along, accompanied him out. She noticed that Zhao Ming truly liked Fu Tinghan; his demeanor was noticeably better when facing him, unlike how he was with her.
As Zhao Ming walked out, he said, "Don't bother with the iron pot and bean oil."
"Oh," Zhao Hanzhang replied, but whether she would heed his advice, only Fu Tinghan might know.
Zhao Ming didn't know if she believed him or not, but he left anyway.
The snow scene was so beautiful; it was the perfect time to enjoy it.
