She touched her belly, hoping for good fortune.
Although Song Tingfan didn't say much, he didn't let her do anything anymore. Other than eating and using the restroom, he was with her all the time.
After just a few days, his son, Song Ling, was already getting dissatisfied. On a rest day, Song Ling wanted to drag Song Tingfan to the mountain to gather some rabbit grass, "Dad, come with me to the mountain to get some rabbit grass, okay?"
Song Tingfan was helping Lin Qiao with her hair when he heard this. He didn't even lift his head, but his tone was gentle enough, "Not now, later."
"Dad, you won't be doing anything in a bit anyway." Song Ling knelt on the bench, looking at him with big, confused eyes.
"Accompanying your mother."
"Dad, you always accompany mom. You're biased, you don't even accompany me to practice writing anymore."
In response to his child's complaint, Song Tingfan remained silent, his hands deftly securing the hairpin.
