Feng Qingxue's attention was quickly drawn to the child in his arms.
It was a boy who looked about two years old, with a big head and a small body. He was thin and sickly and filthily covered in dirt, as if he had just rolled out of a mud pit. He was a spitting image of Feng Qingyun when Feng Qingxue first time-traveled.
He was another child living in extreme poverty and starvation.
The old man glanced around at everyone in the room and said embarrassedly, "My name is Song Laoshuan."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Song?" asked Feng Qingxue. Then she quickly added, "Please have a seat and feel free to talk."
Lu Tianjun promptly stood up and pulled out the chair under his butt for Song Laoshuan.
Song Laoshuan sat down awkwardly, not daring to look at the table. He stammered out, "I am here to find comrade Feng Qingxue. Are you the one who has been sending money and grain tickets to Song Dazhu's family on behalf of our production brigade?"