Zhu Juntang alternated between snuggling in Liu Chang'an's arms, grabbing the carousel horse by the ears and shouting, "Giddyup! Giddyup!", and bobbing up and down as she imitated various equestrian poses and movements—deep seat, absorbing the motion, driving the motion, Mongolian riding techniques, and so on.
Clearly, Third Miss Zhu had virtually no idea what shame was. As the most excited and lively rider on this round of the carousel, she drew the attention of both adults and children. Anyone who did not know better would have thought this little sheep person was so thrilled because she had just become the first pilot in human history to command a star-destroying battleship.
Third Mistress Zhu's pony was right beside hers. She wanted to pretend she did not know Zhu Juntang, but since she was also wearing a sheep mascot costume, one look was enough for people to know they were sheep from the same flock.
Professor Liu Jianshe normally did not care about strangers' stares either, but he was still a normal person. No matter how strong his state of mind was, he understood shame and embarrassment. All he could do was occasionally raise a hand to scratch his forehead or wipe his brows with his fingers, making little gestures to hide his face.
When the carousel finally stopped, Liu Jianshe hurriedly dragged away Zhu Juntang, who was still reluctant to leave and refused to step down from the carousel's footrest.
Third Mistress Zhu followed behind, continuing to film little videos of the father and daughter's daily interactions on her phone.
This had also been Zhu Juntang's suggestion. Did television dramas not always have scenes where people flipped through photo albums, adding warmth, memories, and emotion?
Film more, record more, then pull Liu Jianshe in to reminisce together. That would invisibly