Zhao Yuanyuan curiously grabbed the child's tiny hand and chuckled, "Jiao Jiao, your son's hand is so small. He's grown up a little these past few days. Last time he was still so red, and now his little face is all white and tender. He's growing so fast. He doesn't cry or fuss, much better than those kids my cousin has. Hey, little thing, do you understand? Why are you looking at me? Oh, these eyes are just like yours. Jiao Jiao, his eyes really resemble yours."
Zhou Jiao beamed as she heard this. With more than half a month of nourishment, her complexion had also become rosy, and after giving birth, she looked more graceful and charming, calm and collected, with every gesture exuding elegance. This smile left Zhao Yuanyuan stunned; the thin and frail girl in her memory was becoming more and more beautiful.
