Rong Yan treated winter like she treated MeowMeow and Yingying. The gentleness and love on her face made every child feel warm.
The fourteen-year-old boy had already begun to grow up. He was like a tall and straight white poplar. His young and handsome face could not hide the heroic spirit that had already begun to flourish.
After two years of tempering, winter was like a treasured sword that was about to be forged by a swordsmithing master into a sharp blade. Given time, no one would be able to stop his edge.
His skin was darker in winter than last time, but it was healthier. His eyes were less tender and more mature.
Rong Yan sighed. In fact, Dong Tian's heart was no longer as childish as other children of the same age.
Dong Tian wanted to avoid Rong Yan's hand, but he was afraid that she would be unhappy if he did, so he did not move. His face was a little red. He felt that he was already an adult, and he was embarrassed to be treated like a child by Rong Yan.
