The iron-willed man was also teary-eyed at this moment.
Leng Zimo tightly embraced his brother, "Are you a man or not? How old are you and still crying?!"
"Which eye saw me crying?" Leng Zirui wiped his face behind him, released him, and straightened up, "Look, do you see any tears?!"
Leng Zimo shot him a sidelong glance, "Get lost!"
"Get lost it is!" Leng Zirui turned and walked towards the door.
This kind of exchange, these brothers have had countless times since they were little.
This time, no one knew if it would be the last.
"Let Jiao Yang in," Leng Zimo said to him from behind.
"Okay." Leng Zirui wiped his face with his hand, opened the door, and walked out, his gaze falling on Jiao Yang, "My brother wants to duel with you, go on in!"
Jiao Yang nodded and walked in.
The two men exchanged a gaze through the air.
After a while, Leng Zimo turned, took a small notebook from a drawer, and handed it to him.
"You keep this; you might need it someday!"
