Xibao laid down the final stroke and set the brush aside.
"Mom, I'm finished. Can I go do somersaults now?" Xibao's heart had already flown out the door.
Feng Qingxue had been sick lately, always feeling weak, and knew she had truly injured her foundation. Too lazy to move, she said to her eldest son, "Mom doesn't feel well. Can you bring your writing over for me to check?"
After a moment of thought, Xibao said, "It's not dry."
He meant the ink was still wet and would get smeared if picked up.
Feng Qingxue smiled and said, "May I ask you to wait a while before going out to play? Wait until the ink dries to show it to me for checking. Once I've checked it and put it away, we can send it to Grandpa."
"Alright, who calls me the well-behaved baby?" Xibao praised himself to the skies.
