"It's all your fault, all your fault," Shasha stamped her foot, her little hands pounding on Sandy's chest, complaining in a tone full of grievances: she blamed him—how could she ever hold her head up in front of Little Yanyan again.
"It's all my fault; Uncle is bad. Shasha, if you're still not feeling better, feel free to hit Uncle a few more times," Sandy spoke in a low voice, going along with Shasha's words, his gaze unusually tender, wishing he could merge her into the depths of that profound look.
Upon hearing him say this, Shasha stopped hitting him and stood stiffly on the spot, at a loss for how to interact in that moment.
"Let's go!" Sandy sighed, extending his hand to pull Shasha forward, realizing it would take some time for her to adapt to their current relationship.
