Shen Wenchen didn't grab his son's collar, but instead let him cry heartily for once.
The little child sobbed for a while, presumably exhausted from having just eaten, and then rested in Nanzhi's arms.
The little child, with two small hair buns and tear streaks on his fair-skinned face, nestled in Nanzhi's arms.
Seeing her son like this, Nanzhi felt an unspeakable heartache.
"Nannan, are you okay?" Shen Wenchen, fearing that Nanzhi was tired from carrying Zhiyu, reached out to take him over.
"I'm fine, Zhiyu is not heavy, I can hold him," Nanzhi shook her head, her face expressing tender fondness.
"If you get tired, tell me." His wife not relinquishing her hold, Shen Wenchen halted his actions, only showing his concern.
"Okay, I got it." Nanzhi caressed Zhiyu's cheek, softly responding.
She felt very strange now.
Without her system and spiritual spring, with the old gentleman and Xiaohe no longer in sight, all that she could do was soldier on.