Zhao Yao noticed the middle-aged man staring at him in a daze, looking slightly surprised. He subconsciously raised his hand to touch his own face and asked in confusion, "Uncle, is there something on my face?"
The middle-aged man didn't answer, but Tong Xi, who was standing nearby, did.
"Young master, there's nothing on your face."
"Nothing?" Zhao Yao rubbed his little face again, "If there's nothing, why would Uncle look at me with such astonishment?"
The middle-aged man seemed to recall something, his face inadvertently showing a look of nostalgia, but shortly after, his expression turned sad.
Seeing the middle-aged man's appearance, Zhao Yao touched his own face and asked, "Uncle, do I look like someone you know?" Judging by this uncle's dejected and sorrowful look, it was likely that the person he knew was no longer around.
The middle-aged man snapped back to reality, looked at Zhao Yao, and asked, "What's your name?"
