"What do you think you are you doing?"
Xiao Long froze, his tiny fingers still tangled in Xin Yi's hair. The small boy had been attempting to braid it, or at least, what he thought was braiding. It looked more like he was trying to tie knots for a fishing net. In simpler terms, it looked ugly.
Qing Lin stood in the doorway of the guest chamber, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in what could only be described as a sort of parental exasperation.
Trust Xiao Long to never keep his hands to himself.
"I was making her pretty!" Xiao Long squeaked, his black eyes going wide with panic. "Uncle Qing, I was helping! I swear it!"
"By strangling her hair?"
"It's called styling, Uncle Qing! And I know what I'm doing!"
Qing Lin's other eyebrow joined the first. "Styling? Where did you learn that word, Xiao Long?"
