After sniffing out the scent, he sent Doggy away.
Only then did Zheng Qing have the mind to turn back and consider how the shop was doing.
He had noticed long ago that the shop was short on "staff" today—even without customers, the clerks should not have been slacking off and leaving their posts.
"Where is everyone?"
The young shop owner curled his fingers and rapped on the wooden counter, asking Hank, who had been bent over the ledgers the whole time, with a stern face, "Where are the clerks? Those cats, and the mice? I remember there should have been three cats and four mice in vests."
Hank, who came from Qingqiu Mansion, had always cared deeply about etiquette.
Hearing the owner's question, he stopped what he was doing and answered politely, "As you can see, none of them are here today... You cannot expect cats to stay obediently in the shop and help receive customers. After all, they are merely cats that cannot speak... There is one Yellow Flower Cat that can speak, but its temper is worse than the Young Lady's. If it goes a day without swiping its claws at a customer, we should be thanking the heavens."
There was a trace of resentment in those words.
Of course, anyone put in charge of the shop's work would have reason to express dissatisfaction if the owner sent a pack of animals over to serve as clerks instead of assigning people.
"Um, when I said 'young lady,' I meant it generally." Hank suddenly seemed to recall something. His large tail sprang up like a feather duster and brushed the shelves behind him as he added, "I was not referring to anyone in particular... You understand."
Zheng Qing knew several young ladies, but the only one who could