Xiao Ruiyuan caught the implicit meaning in Mo Qingze's words and couldn't help but feel a sigh of relief, "Uncle Mo, your nephew is twenty-three this year, without any maids to serve in my room, nor are there concubines. In the future, these people won't be here to disturb the peace of the residence."
Mo Qingze sized up Xiao Ruiyuan from top to bottom, feeling very surprised that at his age he had no women serving him. A hint of inquiry flashed in his eyes, Could he have a hidden illness? If so, they certainly couldn't agree!
The straightforwardness in Mo Qingze's gaze was all too clear, and as a man, Xiao Ruiyuan could not fail to understand the deep meaning on his face. He felt as if he was choking on the indignation that couldn't materialize, nearly spewing out a mouthful of old blood.