The sunlight at half past six in the morning, like gold powder mixed with honey, shines through the screen windows of the old unit building and casts mottled light spots on the floor. Fang Zheng sat on the crawling mat with his knees bent, holding his little daughter Fang Nian who had just finished drinking milk in his arms. The silicone teether hanging on his left wrist was chewed wet by the little one, and his right hand was carefully putting on the sleeves of her one-piece suit.
"Slow down, slow down, Nian Nian is a little princess, not a little warrior charging into battle, why are you so anxious?" He looked down at his daughter's chubby face, with a little milk stain on her eyelashes, and his voice was softer than the morning light. If those in the underground world saw this look, they would be shocked - the ruthless man who hung Zhao Zhenshan's number one killer on the railing of the cross-sea bridge in public was being pulled by the hair by a little one who had just turned one year old, and could not even frown.
On the small coffee table in the living room, there were freshly heated steamed buns and soy milk. Next to it was a note left by Lin Wan: "Take Xiaoyu to the city map in the morning to check the history of martial arts. I put the attendance sheet from Zhengwu Hall in your briefcase. Aunt Zhang said that her grandson has to make up for a self-defense class today. Don't forget to remind the teaching assistant." The handwriting was neat and neat, with a crooked little sun drawn at the end.
