"Master, will you marry Xiao Huan?" Eight-year-old Qing Huan bit into the apple, juice flowed from the corner of her mouth, dripping on the rice paper where the ink was still dry, and the line of immature regular script that had just begun to mature became a weird portrait.
Ning Shuhan held her hands and played music, her eyes as gentle as the white moonlight on a summer night, "I'll talk about it when you grow up."
"Master, don't go on blind dates. I will marry you when Xiaohuan grows up." On New Year's Eve, twelve-year-old Qinghuan grabbed Ning Shuhan's sleeve after drinking and made beautiful gestures with one hand very quickly.
Ning Shuhan: "... Baby, wake up quickly, don't think too much."
To put it simply: one summer, Mr. Ning met a little girl on the way to do errands, and then started the story of the pet disciple skill.
Lovely and sweet articles, HE.
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