Shocking! A three-year-old brings his aloof mother to their door.

He Wanqing was startled, like a frightened rabbit, and quickly turned around and climbed onto the bed.

She braced herself on the bed with her hands, her knees on the soft mattress, her buttocks slightly raised, arching in a captivating curve.

Mo Ye looked at the curve and climbed up as well.

He Wanqing quickened her crawling speed, like a little rabbit running desperately ahead.

Mo Ye followed behind her, unhurried and leisurely, like a hungry wolf.

He Wanqing's knees rubbed against the sheets, turning them a little red; her wrists, braced against the bed, also turned a little red.

She stopped what she was doing, turned her head, glared at him, her voice a mixture of anger and embarrassment, with a hint of pleading at the end: "What do you want?"

Of course it is...

He Wanqing was so angry that she lowered her head and bit his arm, leaving a shallow ring of teeth marks. Her voice was muffled as she said, "My back hurts."

Mo Ye nodded, his tone as gentle as if he were coaxing a child: "I'll give you a massage."

He Wanqing lay back on the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and hummed in agreement.

Mo Ye placed his palm on her side and began to gently massage.

His force was neither too light nor too heavy, his palms were warm, and he slowly pushed down her spine, then from her lower back to her side.

He Wanqing slowly relaxed, like an orange cat basking in the sun, her breathing becoming long and even.

Mo Ye paused for a moment, looking down at her profile. Her eyelashes drooped quietly, her lips were slightly pursed, and her brows had completely relaxed.

She fell asleep.

He quietly got up from beside her, went into the bathroom, soaked a towel in warm water, wrung it out, came back, and carefully wiped her body.

From the shoulders to the arms, from the waist to the legs, every movement was light and slow.

After wiping her down, he put the towel back in the bathroom, walked back, helped her change into a nightgown, and lay down beside her.

He Wanqing turned over in her sleep, snuggled into his arms, pressed her face against his chest, put her hands on his waist, and wrapped her legs around his legs.

Mo Ye wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

He heard her mutter something softly, her voice indistinct and unclear, as if drifting from a deep, distant place: "Mo Ye, you really are a big bad guy... you stinky egg!"

Mo Ye smiled, lowered his head and kissed her forehead, his lips pausing for a moment.

Then he pulled the blanket over both of their shoulders and closed his eyes.

The next day.

Mo Ye opened his eyes, and the first thing he did upon regaining consciousness was to look down at the person in his arms.

He Wanqing was still asleep, her face pressed against his chest, one hand on his waist, and the other hand clutching the hem of his clothes.

The morning light fell on her face, giving her a faint pink blush, like a peach blossom just washed by spring rain.

The fine downy hair on her cheeks shimmered softly in the light, like the skin of a newborn baby, so soft that you wanted to reach out and touch it.

He just stared at it for a while.

Look at her eyelashes drooping quietly, look at her slightly pursed lips, look at her nostrils rising and falling gently with her breath.

Then he gently, inch by inch, removed her arms from his waist, moved her legs off his legs, lifted her face from his chest, and carefully placed it on the pillow.

He Wanqing showed no signs of waking up, not even frowning. She turned over, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and continued to sleep.

She was so tired, so very tired.

Mo Ye sat by the bed for a while, looking at her peaceful sleeping face, and made a decision in his heart.

He went to the bathroom to wash up, moving very quietly and making almost no sound.

Then I went into the kitchen, rinsed the rice, added water, and turned on the stove.

The millet porridge was bubbling away in the pot, its aroma slowly spreading and mingling with the cool morning air, warming the entire house.

While the porridge was cooking, he went into Tongtong's room.

The little girl slept like a turtle that had flipped over, lying sprawled out on her bed with the blanket kicked to her feet and her bunny pajamas flipped up, revealing her round little belly that rose and fell with her breath.

Mo Ye sat down by the bed and gently patted her lower belly, which was soft and fluffy, like a freshly baked dough.

"Tongtong, wake up."

Tongtong hummed in response, turned over, buried her face in the pillow, leaving him with only the back of her head and a tuft of hair sticking up high.

Mo Ye smiled, bent down, scooped her up from the small bed, and held her in his arms.

Tongtong nestled in her father's arms like a soft, fluffy mochi. She rubbed her little face against his chest, found a comfortable position, closed her eyes, and prepared to continue sleeping.

Her small hands gripped his collar, and her breathing became long and even again.

Mo Ye looked down at the round little bundle in his arms. His daughter was soft and sweet, nestled in his arms like a lazy kitten. His heart softened uncontrollably.

But he hardened his heart and put her on the ground.

Tongtong's ahoge (cowlick) stood up with a "whoosh," like a grass stem that had been bent and then bounced back.

She looked up, her big eyes filled with accusation, her little mouth pouting, her voice soft and sweet, with a hint of sleepiness: "Daddy, what are you doing!"

Mo Ye squatted down to look her in the eye, reached out and pinched her little cheek, his voice gentle but firm: "Get up, it's time to go to kindergarten."

Tongtong pouted, her little face full of reluctance, and her voice was muffled, with a hint of pleading at the end: "Tongtong doesn't want to go to kindergarten."

Mo Ye scooped her up from the ground, carried her to the bathroom, and placed her on her little stool: "Tongtong, go to kindergarten to sleep after you eat..."