The old man's dementia was quite severe, and he couldn't distinguish between Zhao Feipeng and Zhao Zhongtian. He slapped Zhao Feipeng, thinking he was scolding Zhao Zhongtian.
A simple question about whether one is married seemed like a form of care and concern for the younger generations.
Zhao Feipeng felt a deep sadness.
Zhao Zhongtian's eyes were even more downcast.
Others also had expressions of sorrow, each feeling the old man's pain.
Even if they felt overwhelmed, they didn't want the old man to see their emotions, so they bowed their heads and looked away, seizing the chance to sympathize with him, unwilling to let him see their troubled faces.
"Dad, have a seat for dinner. Everyone's standing here waiting for you to speak," Zhao Feipeng urged when he saw the old man's mood shift from scolding to calmer.
"No hurry, no hurry!" The old man glanced warmly at Zhao Ruixi and said, "Xixi, come over here, let your great-grandfather hold you."
