Watching him walk away, Lin Qiao let out a sigh of relief and couldn't help but mutter, "Whose brain does he resemble?"
She looked up and met Song Tingfan's gaze, the meaning clear—it resembled her.
She was speechless, "..."
She glared at him, quickly lay down on the bed, and with slight embarrassment and anger said, "Go teach him to practice calligraphy. When he wakes up, I'll check it. If he gets one character wrong, you'll be punished to copy it too."
The man chuckled softly a few times, sat at the bedside, bent down, and kissed her, "It's good that he resembles you."
If he resembles her, he won't suffer hardships.
Lin Qiao hummed twice, couldn't help but yawn, but then remembered something, her expression grew serious, "In the future, try not to let the kids wander too far."
Children don't understand anything, if they pick up bad habits, it would be a shame.
In a few days, we may have to relocate, it doesn't matter to us, but it's not good for the children.
