Cen Yue lowered his eyelashes.
Song Yiyi couldn't see his expression clearly and thought he wanted to be alone, so she said, "I'll get you a glass of water."
Maybe Cen Yue also needs to cry like Cen Bowen.
Release your emotions.
Sometimes we hate someone because we still have expectations of him, and we hate him only when our expectations are not met.
Cen Yue didn't let Song Yiyi leave. He pulled her into his arms.
He circled her and opened the passbook.
After a long while, a deep and playful voice sounded in my ears: "This is not enough for your two courtyard houses, right?"
Song Yiyi took two seconds to react, then turned around and saw Cen Yue looking lazy and nonchalant.
This was his habitual disguise.
It seemed that he still couldn't accept it, and Cen Anguo left quietly.
Song Yiyi shook her head. "That's enough. Do you still want to buy a courtyard house?"
There's no point in having so much.
Cen Yue tightened his arms, wishing he could hold Song Yiyi in his arms. He suddenly lowered his head and leaned towards her, "Wife, why don't you let me change my career?"
Song Yiyi was shocked, "Why?"
She thought Cen Yue was upset by Cen Anguo, and quickly comforted him, "He is him, and you are you. Your life will not be the same as his. And mine is different too. I always believe in you."
Cen Yue's eyes were filled with dark color.
A year is too long.
With concerns, the days of separation are especially difficult to endure.
All the letters sent by Song Yiyi were torn to pieces by Cen Yue.
He held the photos of his wife and daughter in his arms, but didn't dare to look at them for too long.
Afraid of missing you too much.
The person I dream about every night is finally in my arms.
Cen Yue lowered his eyes and stared at Song Yiyi, "If I don't change my career and live off others, sooner or later, you will despise me."
Song Yiyi and Song Minghui delivered supplies there twice.
Every time it caused a sensation.
Cen Yue knew in his heart that his wife would get better and better in the future.
He is always aware of the crisis.
Especially when seeing the beautiful face in front of me.
Song Yiyi was silent for a moment, "What should I do then? My assets will increase year by year in the future."
She raised her arms and wrapped them around Cen Yue's neck, her eyes sparkling with tears. "But I need the chief's protection."
Cen Yue's deep eyes were filled with undisguised desire.
He picked up Song Yiyi and walked out.
"Where are you going?" Song Yiyi was puzzled.
Cen Yue's Adam's apple slid slightly, and a smile spread across his eyes, "She's just a gigolo."
If you want to live off someone, you must be aware that you are living off them.
Cen Yue is reflected in the action.
He insisted on helping Song Yiyi take a bath.
Song Yiyi didn't even need to think to know that some people would use this kind of thing as an excuse to benefit themselves.
Cen Anguo's affairs.
Cen Yue accepted it calmly.
He accepted everything, including the things sent by Cen Lao Er.
Anyway, these are the inheritance he should inherit.
Before the Chinese New Year, Cen Yue went to Cen Laoer's house to pay a simple tribute to Cen Anguo.
Song Yiyi and Chengcheng also went with them.
The main thing was that Chengcheng was clamoring to find his brother.
Song Yiyi explained to her several times that although Cen Bowen's three children were only two months older than her, they were not her brothers.
Chengcheng is older than them.
But children don’t care about these things.
In the past, Huo Tianqi always took care of the three naughty monkeys, but this year they had more opportunities to interact with each other, and the children could also play together.
Chengcheng likes to command the other three.
Those three were actually willing to listen.
But this time, when I went there, three naughty monkeys came home crying.
Cheng Cheng asked one by one: "Stop crying, why are you crying?"
The three of them said in unison: "I'm so scared when Dad loses his temper."
I just came back not long ago.
What's wrong with Cen Bowen again?
Song Yiyi found out after asking Huo Tianqi privately.
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