The little one's clever schemes upstairs were unknown to Zhou Jiao.
Even if she knew, so what? The three fair-skinned sons raised by her, her dad, and Zhang Guoqing had long become black sesame dumplings.
The gentle, cool breeze blew by, making her almost fall asleep comfortably. If it weren't for Cheng Ruzhu constantly chatting with her mom, she would have drifted into dreamland.
Parents with benevolent hearts always center their lives around their children. Regardless of their education level or family background, they are eager to plan a century-long future for their descendants.
Is that conventional?
No!
Having sons, Zhou Jiao could understand Cheng Ruzhu's anxieties. Even though she often said that when Ping'an and the others grew up, she would let them fly freely.
But deep down, isn't she always pondering their future paths? Isn't she preparing to leave them a vast fortune? Otherwise, what use are those external possessions to her?
