Lu Xiaoyou beckoned to that little kid.
"Come here."
The child was a little timid, staring blankly at Lu Xiaoyou without moving.
People are usually like this: when they haven't actually seen someone, they miss them terribly, but once their dream person really appears in front of them, they don't dare to go forward.
The child lowered his head and looked down at himself.
After being kidnapped by that group of people, his clothes had all been dirtied.
These were clothes Liangliang had bought for him; he'd fallen several times before, so his chest and knees were especially dirty.
He had already thrown the gun away and was using his short little fingers to pat the dust off his arms; he wanted to wipe away those bloodstains. Not just his arms—his face was filthy too.
But the more the child wiped at his face, the more he ended up looking like a little tabby cat, dirtier and dirtier.
Looking at him like this, Lu Xiaoyou couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter.
