"Mommy…" A tiny, aggrieved voice came muffled, melting Yang Chuxia's heart into a messy puddle.
Ye Zi'an, however, could not stand to see his son acting so spoiled and quipped, "Son, even your mommy holding you will make you shorter."
Yang Chuxia held her forehead; she had only delayed for a moment and he'd already resumed teasing their son.
Then, Yangyang suddenly lifted his head, looking at daddy then at mommy, being unable to be held or cry or kiss, he exuded an aura of utter dejection.
Feeling wronged, he hung his head, no longer speaking or smiling.
Yang Chuxia's heart ached at the sight, and she scooped her son into her arms.
But Yangyang still remembered Ye Zi'an's words and hastily protested, "Don't hold, don't hold."