Upon learning the truth, Wen Qing immediately knelt down.
How could he have such great merit that his two ancestors came to the modern era and even acted in his play? This must be a blessing from heaven.
"Dad." The little fat boy was wearing pajamas, rubbing his eyes, holding a little rabbit, standing at the door of the room.
The silent atmosphere dissipated into thin air, and His Majesty turned over his cell phone and placed it on the table.
"Awake?" Emperor Mingxi looked out the window, frowned, and said, "The night is still long."
The fat baby flew over like a moth, resting his face on his father's shoulder, easily squeezing out two layers of double chins: "I don't want to sleep anymore."
In fact, he is very clingy. The emperor smiled, pinched his flesh, held the child in his arms and coaxed him gently.
The little fat boy was a solid fat ball. Wen Qing couldn't help but admire him when he saw that he could pick him up with one hand.
The little fat cub lay in his father's arms, staring with his big eyes, blinking.
Looking at the phone on the table, he opened his mouth.
Emperor Mingxi placed his finger on his lips and said, "Shh."
The fat baby closed his eyes in frustration. It would be a lie to say he wasn't sleepy. His breathing soon became even.
The emperor waited patiently for a while before picking up his phone, turning the brightness down to the lowest setting, and clumsily typing.
He read the comments one by one, refuting and rebuking them in great earnestness.
"My son is not a brat."
"If you want to die, go ahead and die. Don't involve my son in this. May he live a hundred, a thousand, or even ten thousand years."
"If you feel sick, just go ahead and vomit. What's the point of talking here?"
"Whether you are disgusted or abusive, I will bear the consequences alone. My son is young and cannot bear your curses. You must know that harsh words will backfire."
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