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

Mo Ye nodded and brushed his bangs aside: "Your hair is too long; it's already covering your eyes."

He Wanqing recalled that when her male classmates got haircuts, they all looked like completely different people. Some looked like they had been chewed by a dog, some looked like they had just been released from prison, and some looked like they were wearing an ill-fitting wig, looking like idiots.

Her eyes narrowed further, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty and probing: "After you're done cutting it... how will you feel?"

Mo Ye paused for a moment, thought about it carefully, and then honestly admitted a cruel fact that all boys knew: it seemed that no boy could walk out of the barbershop with a smile.

He coughed, his voice a little dry: "Hmm... it's alright."

He Wanqing rested her arms on her chest, tapped her chin lightly with her fingers, and then made a decision: "Your hair is our joint property, I'll cut it for you."

Mo Ye's eyes widened instantly, filled with disbelief and doubt: "You know how to cut hair?"

He Wanqing nodded, her expression carrying an undeniable confidence: "Of course, I've always cut my own bangs since I was a child."

Mo Ye glanced at her bangs and thought they were indeed well-cut, neat and natural, with the length just above her eyebrows, making her features appear even more delicate.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Since he wouldn't be satisfied with the haircut anyway, he might as well let Wanqing try it. He said, "Then you can cut it."

He Wanqing pulled Mo Ye's hand and pressed him down to sit on the chair in front of the dressing table.

She took a pair of scissors from the drawer; the silver blade gleamed coldly under the light.

She stood behind him, placed her hands on his shoulders, looked into his eyes in the mirror, and smiled slightly, like a surgeon about to take up a knife.

Mo Ye looked at He Wanqing's expression in the mirror. She looked very serious, with her brows slightly furrowed and her lips pursed.

He breathed a sigh of relief. To be honest, guys do care a lot about their hairstyle, but considering he already had a wife, it didn't matter. Anyway, whether he looked good or bad was for He Wanqing to see, and if he ruined it, she would be the one who felt bad.

He closed his eyes and silently prepared himself.

He Wanqing stared at Mo Ye's hair, her gaze like a ruler, measuring back and forth on his head.

She combed up a small strand of hair, aimed the scissors at it, hesitated for a moment, then put it down and combed up another strand.

Her fingers trembled slightly, her heart was beating a little fast, and her palms were sweaty.

She took a deep breath, closed the scissors, and with a "snip," a strand of hair slipped through her fingers and floated lightly to the floor.

She looked down at the strand of hair, then looked up at the back of Mo Ye's head, where a piece was missing, the edges jagged, as if it had been chewed by a dog.

She gasped, her voice soft but urgent.

Mo Ye's eyebrows twitched. He opened his eyes, looked at He Wanqing's face in the mirror, and asked with a hint of tension and worry in his voice, "What's wrong?"

He Wanqing smiled calmly, but the smile was like a thin layer of ice, beneath which churned with panic.

She said calmly, "It's nothing, I almost cut my hand just now."

Mo Ye breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes again: "No rush, take your time."

He Wanqing stared at the gap at the back of her head, pursed her lips, and began to repair it.

She cut off a section from the left side and found that the right side was asymmetrical; she cut off a section from the right side and found that the left side was too short.

She trimmed and trimmed her hair again and again, strands of it falling down like autumn leaves, carpeting the floor.

The gap is getting bigger and deeper, and the edges are becoming increasingly jagged.

Her lips instantly tightened, forming a straight line from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

Her heart was pounding faster and faster, her palms were getting sweatier and sweatier, and she had only one thought in her mind—why is cutting hair so difficult!

Looking at He Wanqing's pursed lips and furrowed brows in the mirror, Mo Ye felt the weight on his heart rise again, even higher than before.

He spoke cautiously, his voice tinged with uncertainty and unease: "What's wrong?"

He Wanqing's tone was cool, her voice carrying a hint of shirking responsibility and a weak, unconvincing argument: "Your hair is too difficult to cut."

Mo Ye fell silent. Although he had considered this possibility beforehand, when he actually faced reality, his heart still sank, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

He took a deep breath, trying to make his voice sound calm, reassuring himself and her, "It's okay."

He Wanqing clicked her tongue and gently brushed aside the few strands of hair of varying lengths on the back of his head with the tip of her scissors, her tone carrying a hint of disdain and a joke: "Thinking about how ugly you'll be in the future, I don't want you anymore."

Mo Ye felt as if an invisible knife had stabbed his heart, shattering his defenses.

He reached up and touched the back of his head. Instead of smooth, even stubble, his fingertips touched patches of pits and bumps, like the surface of the moon.

His voice held a hint of disbelief and helplessness: "Wanqing, you........"

He Wanqing coughed, interrupting him, her tone carrying a hint of guilt and a desperate attempt to defend herself: "It's all because your head is uneven."

Mo Ye's lips twitched. He looked at his own face in the mirror, which was full of "helplessness," and then at He Wanqing's face, which was full of "it's none of my business." He sighed deeply.

"Let's leave the professional stuff to the professionals." His voice was as calm as a still pond.

He Wanqing crossed her arms, looked at the messy hair on Mo Ye's head that she had cut, remained silent for two seconds, and then nodded decisively.

She put the scissors back in the drawer, turned and left, like a kitten that had done something wrong and then made a quick getaway.

Mo Ye looked at her back in the mirror, heard the bathroom door close, and then the sound of the shower turning on.

He sat in the chair, looking at his head in the mirror, which had been shaved so badly it looked like a dog had chewed it up. Suddenly, he wanted to ask himself how he had gotten to where he was today.

He silently stood up from the chair, picked up his pajamas, walked out of the bedroom, and went to the bathroom in the living room to take a shower.

Hot water poured down from above, washing over his body and cleansing his heart, which had been shattered into pieces.

Mo Ye, dressed in his pajamas, sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for He Wanqing to come out.

He leaned against the headboard, the light from his phone screen reflecting on his face. His gaze fell on a picture of a hairstyle, looked at it for a few seconds, then swiped to the next one, and the next one after that.

The bathroom door opened, and He Wanqing walked out, her hair wrapped up and wearing that purple nightgown, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam.

Mo Ye put down his phone, walked over, and hugged her from behind.

He Wanqing didn't flinch; she just stood there and let him hold her.

She glanced at him sideways, her gaze lingering on his unevenly cut hair before quickly looking away, pursing her lips as if trying to suppress a laugh.

Mo Ye sighed helplessly, his voice carrying a helpless smile that sounded like he was settling scores: "You have the nerve to complain about the mess you made."

He Wanqing lowered her head, her voice soft, tinged with guilt and grievance: "Isn't this my first time getting a haircut?"