Little Qian'er, whose head was patted, only wished she were taller, like her young lady, so that when the rascal sat down, he wouldn't be able to reach her head.
However, that would also mean sacrificing the comfortable height difference she had with Zhao Rong.
Because as it was, when she threw herself into Zhao Rong's embrace, she could perfectly settle in the most comfortable position, even if she had to stand on tiptoe to do certain things...
At the moment, the young girl's mind wasn't wandering in wild fantasies, for she had more pressing matters to attend to.
Zhao Qian'er suddenly caught hold of Zhao Rong's sleeve, bowed her head quietly for a moment, and said softly,
"You said you wanted to put me at the front... so, write a poem for me now. It doesn't have to be great, Qian'er will like it as long as it's written by you."
Looking at the shy figure of the little girl, Zhao Rong pondered, "Do you really want me to write it?"
