"I'm already in my early twenties, Xiantao." Zhao Mingyue didn't want to always hear his wife say he was young, so he quickly emphasized his age.
“So you need to be more mature, otherwise people will laugh at you.” Zhang Xiantao said, gesturing with her chin towards Zhu Lin.
Zhao Mingyue looked up and saw a hint of disdain on Zhu Lin's lips. He felt a lump in his throat and couldn't bring himself to say, "Whoever dares to laugh at him, he'll beat them up," because he couldn't beat Zhu Lin.
"I'll be more careful in the future," Zhao Mingyue assured him, sounding slightly aggrieved.
"Ah, eh eh ya ya..." At this moment, Zhao Heng suddenly opened his arms to Zhu Lin, his small body reaching towards him.
Xingxing watched with envy, saying, "Heng'er wants you to hug him, Brother Lin. Why would he want you to hug him? Isn't he afraid of you?"
After all, Zhu Lin's temperament was too cold and aloof. Apart from Xingxing, no one else could feel any closeness or warmth from him.
Zhao Mingyue's son is now ten months old. He can vaguely utter one or two words. He is soft, cute, and adorable. His personality seems to be like Zhang Xiantao's. He is very lively and outgoing.
The little guy seems oblivious to other people's expressions, whether they're sullen or cold. He's not shy around strangers and seems rather carefree.
"Bag, bag, bag." Listen to those three shouts of hugging, each one more powerful than the last, each one higher than the last, both soft and full of energy.
Xingxing was overjoyed. "Heng'er, Uncle won't hug you, Auntie will. Come here, let Auntie hug you."
"Cloth, cloth!" Heng'er shook her slender arms, ruthlessly rejecting Xingxing, and stubbornly stretched out her hands towards Zhu Lin, "Bag, bag."
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