Having received news from Zhang Jian, Zhang Zhao hurried over.
"Father!"
Under the jujube tree, Zhang Jian opened his eyes and looked at Zhang Zhao in front of him.
Zhang Zhao was already twenty-two years old this year. He had been handsome since childhood, combining the advantages of Zhang Jian and Qi Yuhua in appearance, surpassing his predecessors.
At this moment, the young man's face was handsome and elegant.
Rarely forged through experience, he possessed a steady temperament.
For this heir he personally nurtured, Zhang Jian was fairly satisfied, though truthfully, Zhang Yi was more satisfied with him.
Zhang Zhao stood before him; to his eyes, his father inherently exuded an aura of authority, making it impossible to look directly at him.
In fact, he wished to be close like some of his brothers, or like his sister, Zhang Chang'an, but for some reason, every time at the crucial moment, he seemed to encounter some kind of bloodline suppression, unable to open up.
