Qi Yun immediately shook his head upon hearing Old Zhao wouldn't accept money: "That's not right, the item is too valuable, I can't take advantage of you like this."
Old Zhao raised his hand, took a sip from his glass, and then sighed: "I don't want your money, but I do want to ask you for a favor."
Qi Yun accompanied him with his own drink and, putting down the glass, responded with a smile: "The bond between us, you can just tell me directly, if I can do it, I surely will."
"Alright." Old Zhao wiped his mouth and pondered for a moment, "I know you're a capable person. I'm just thinking, that when I pass away, if my grandson ever falls on hard times, I hope you'll lend him a hand out of respect for our friendship."
Qi Yun stopped his hand mid-air as he was about to grab a cigarette, then looked up at Old Zhao. Under the dim oil lamp, the wrinkles on the old man's face seemed to embody a lifetime of hardships.
