Hearing his own name, Little Bao came running over on his short legs, patter patter, and threw himself into Charles Seymour's arms. His two little hands pressed on Charles' knees as he tilted up his tender little face, those big dark watery eyes looking at him full of hope.
Old Mr. Seymour and Old Mrs. Seymour were both looking at him too, and time seemed to suddenly freeze at this moment.
Little Bao was a smart kid. In his black-and-white clear eyes, the bright, dewy light of expectation suddenly got covered over. His little hands moved, gently patting Charles' leg to soothe him, and his soft, milky child's voice comforted him: "Daddy, Bao's not in a hurry, not in a hurry."
Seeing Little Bao so sensible and pitiful, Old Mrs. Seymour felt like her heart was being dug out alive. It hurt her to death.
Charles took a deep breath, lifted Little Bao onto his lap and held him in his arms, saying in a low voice, "Daddy will definitely let Mommy know about Bao as soon as possible, okay?"
