He lay beside tingjun, his deep eyes staring unblinkingly at the sleeping tingjun. He observed and sized him up. This was his own son. Even at this moment, he still felt like he was in a dream.
Tingjun didn't sleep well. He liked to kick the blanket at night and he liked to roll around. He could roll from the head of the bed to the end of the bed and from the end of the bed to the head of the bed.
Every time he moved, Yin Zhan's breathing grew heavier. His long fingers pressed on the sheets, tightening.
Every time he quieted down, she would carry him back to his original position and tuck him in his blanket.
After she covered him with the blanket for the nth time and he kicked it away, he didn't get angry at all. He just repeated the simple actions and covered him again carefully. He couldn't calm down.
The time turned from midnight to early morning, and the first rays of the morning sun shone in from the window.