Qian Tong's eyelids twitched. Though he appeared unbothered, a faint chill flickered in his eyes.
Zhang Zhan sighed and said, "Let's talk about this again in a few days. For now, you all leave. I need to speak privately with the children."
Liang Wu and Qian Tong understood he had family matters to discuss in private, so they cupped their fists and withdrew.
After they left, Zhang Zhan's gaze shifted briefly before settling on a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. He showed a faint smile and said, "Ling Yu, come closer. The others can leave."
His other sons, born of concubines, were timid in character. Hearing these words was as if they had received a pardon, and they scurried out immediately. Only the girl approached, sat on the bedside, and grasped her father's hand. She felt that the hand which was once strong and warm was now weak and clammy, ice-cold to the touch. Her heart dimmed, and she said softly, "Father."
