When Tang Zhiming saw Fang Zichen arrive, he hurried to pack his things and follow.
Fang Zichen saw him sitting in a wheelchair, with a dozen or so children standing behind him—the oldest about nine, the youngest not even two. The place they lived wasn't much either. They were probably poor—no wonder he needed someone to escort them.
Fang Zichen's mouth went dry. He pointed at the gaggle of children behind Tang Zhiming: "These... these are all your kids?"
Tang Zhiming said: "Yes and no."
Fang Zichen: "..."