He Zhichu's drivers, gardeners, and house staff treated with him the utmost respect. He rarely opened any doors in his own home, let alone the car doors, himself. The Rolls-Royce driver who rushed out was an overweight man in his mid-forties, with a face face so sunburnt it was as bright as a tomato's. Rubbing his palms, his face blanched when he called out nervously, "Mr. He, allow me." The driver came over to open the door for Gu Nianzhi.
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