Liu Zhanggui, with a pleased expression, helped Yang Ge up and patted his shoulder, saying with a smile: "People who have read books really know how to speak eloquently. Unlike Wang Dali, that rough fellow, who only knows how to say 'You are just like my father!'”,He gently pushed open the rickety wooden gate, made of pieces held together with twigs. Just as he was about to speak, he saw a thin, wiry old man with sparse whiskers and wearing patched-up shorts, sitting cross-legged in the courtyard. He skillfully mended a tattered fishing net with a shuttle.,Looking at the two objects, Yang Ge was stunned for a second. He came to his senses and hurriedly took the cloth bag, pressing it tightly against his chest, tears welling up in his eyes.。