Jian Yufei nodded, lifting the box in her hand: "I made some pastries as a present for Grandpa. Can you go in and let him know for me?"
Butler Hardy smiled: "No need to announce, Miss can go straight in."
He opened the door, gesturing for her to enter.
"Thank you." Jian Yufei walked in, and Butler Hardy closed the door behind her.
Nangong Wenxiang was working on the computer; seeing her come in, he set aside his work, leaned back in the leather swivel chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"What is it you're here for?" he asked indifferently, his voice tinged with fatigue.
Jian Yufei suddenly felt a pang of pity for him.
At his age, he was still working tirelessly every day, with no one to share his burdens.
If his son hadn't died, he'd probably be enjoying his twilight years by now.
Jian Yufei stepped forward, placing a box on the desk: "I made some pastries and brought them for you."
"I don't eat these things," Nangong Wenxiang declined flatly.
