Yin Zhan then stared at Su Ye, a flicker of anticipation and curiosity in his eyes.
"Do you think about me often?"
Su Ye
"Hm?"
"Mother said that if you often think about someone, it means you like them. And if you always feel very happy or very angry when you think of them, it means you really, really like them.
When you think of me, do you feel happy?"
Yin Zhan spoke those sweet, innocent words in such an icy tone that Lin Moyu, watching from the side, couldn't help but feel a surge of maternal affection.
After all, he had the mental age of a seven-year-old.
Shadowing Su Ye's every step, it really did look like she was raising a son.
But after hearing his words, Su Ye froze for a moment, her expression growing complicated.
Then, she suddenly covered her face with her hands.
"Really, really like? No, something must be wrong."
