Wen Meimei nodded, her gentle gaze falling on her son's rosy cheeks, "Qingqing, do you think my son looks more like me or Qiao the King of Hell?"
"His nose looks like the young master's, his eyes like the young madam's."
"Actually, I kind of hope my son resembles my dad. At least my dad is the epitome of a warm man. If my son grows up to look like Qiao the King of Hell, it's over. I don't want to face two expressionless faces every day."
Bu Qingqing's inner thoughts: Young madam, as long as he is properly educated, the young master won't become expressionless...
Little Moliu's appetite was quite small. After drinking for a short while, he was full and started to resist by pushing his mother away.
Wen Meimei, as if having completed a daunting task, handed Little Moliu to the maid and then tidied up her clothes.
At the same time, at Qiao Group.
Qiao Chengxun, watching his wife put her clothes back on, felt a great sense of relief and turned off the surveillance footage.
