Ling Momo saw the way Li Qingshen's gaze fixed on her, so focused, and her face instantly turned bright red, as if it were on fire, burning hot.
Ling Momo, nervous, subconsciously wanted to pull her fingers from the palm of his hand, but he instead tightened his grip even more.
Tingling sensations spread from the tips of Ling Momo's fingers, her fingers trembling more and more, unsure of where to place them, she moved them around.
In Li Qingshen's calm eyes, reflected only the figure of Ling Momo, a scene so familiar that his expression became somewhat distant.
He felt as if time had turned back.
As if time had returned to ten years ago, when an eight-year-old little girl climbed into his rocking chair to sit in his lap, wriggling about, her smile sweet, and then her tender, pale little hand reached out just like now.
