Wang Xian had never known the name of that nursery rhyme, nor had he ever heard anyone else sing it.
He only remembered that his mother's voice had been soft and gentle, like a March breeze brushing across a lake, like moonlight falling upon snow at night.
Whenever he heard that tune, he would feel like crying for no reason, yet also strangely at peace.
No... to the present-day Wang Xian, his mother was merely a hazy memory with nothing left but an outline... He had even always believed himself to be an orphan.
It was his master, Old Zhang, who had picked him up from Sand City...
As he tried to think further, the scene that flashed through his mind quietly vanished.
All that remained was Bao Xiaoqin's warm breast. So warm that he nearly forgot how bold, fiery, and foul-mouthed this woman was—forgot everything.
At this moment, he only wanted to close his eyes.
Even if only for a little while.
Even if he had to pretend he was a child with a mother, leaning against her embrace.
Bao Xiaoqin lowered her head and saw Wang Xian, his eyes covered with black cloth, lying motionless against her chest.
At first, she thought the bastard was playing dead, or had come up with some new trick to mess with her. But gradually, she felt a trace of dampness against her chest.
Warm.
One drop, two drops, three drops.
Her high, jade-white breasts were soaked with tears!
Bao Xiaoqin jolted, lowering her head to look at Wang Xian.
That face, usually either sneering or mocking, either caustic or teasing, bore no expression at all now.
No ridicule, no anger, no schemes.
Only an indescribable stillness that broke the heart.
Two streams of hot tears silently slipped from beneath the