Song Zhiqing's nose itched, and he sneezed twice. He felt his sleeve but didn't have a handkerchief, so he directly used his fingers to pick his nose.
Ru Yi came out of the inner room and saw this scene. She paused in her steps, feeling a bit surprised and embarrassed, with a hint of disdain flashing in her eyes.
Since when did the genteel gentleman become like a crude hillbilly, using his hand to wipe his nose and pick his nostrils?
A scene suddenly appeared in her mind, one she had witnessed on the manor: those farmers sitting on the field ridge, taking off their shoes to pick their feet, and even smelling their hands afterward. She imagined replacing that man's face with Song Zhiqing's.
Ru Yi felt a bit nauseous and made a gagging motion.
"Go get a clean handkerchief for the Old Master," she instructed Ru Yi, who stood by the door.
Song Zhiqing: "..."
