Lin Qiaoqiao quietly glanced at him and tiptoed out.
Xiao Moli was troubled for a long time, but ultimately took out his phone. It didn't matter if Tang Xiaoqi was at home waiting to give birth—he had nothing to lose face about in front of his mommy, so he called Nuoyan back.
After a few rings, it finally connected, and his mommy's lazy voice came from the other end.
"What's up?"
Xiao Moli's lips twitched; when it came time to actually say it, there was indeed a trace of embarrassment.
How the heck should he put this?
On the other end, Nuoyan clicked her tongue, "Are you going to say it or not? If not, I'm hanging up."
Still, no matter how you listen to it, her voice carried a hint of watching a good show.
Xiao Moli had black lines on his forehead, Mommy, is it really okay for you to laugh at your son like this?
Reluctantly, he steeled himself and spoke, "Mommy, how do I write a self-critique?"
