It was said that when little seventh young master was just born, he was a small ball of glutinous rice, very similar to Xuan Yingluo. However, these four years had passed, and little seventh young master was almost the same every day, zhou Yu’s shadow gradually appeared in his long eyes, and it was becoming more and more similar.
Xuan Yingluo had always been afraid that little seventh young master would become a miniature version of Zhou Yu. This way, when Zhou Yu saw little seventh young master, he would suspect that this was his son’s. At that time, he would not be able to hide anything.
Xuan Yingluo pounced over and snatched away the drawing paper. “Who my son looks like has nothing to do with you. Why are you thinking about someone else’s son? If you have the ability, go and give birth yourself.”
Zhou Yu narrowed his eyes and reached out to pinch her palm-sized face. He chuckled softly and said, “I only mentioned your son once. Why Are You So Nervous?”
