The bedroom was lit by a single warm-colored lamp, and gentle, melodious whispers flowed softly.
Qin Mengying cuddled with Luoluo, leaning diagonally on the right side of the bed, patiently reading a storybook in her hands.
Ou Mingxuan lay on the left, with little Luoluo asleep in the middle, her small hand tightly gripping one of Ou Mingxuan's fingers, her eyes slowly opening and closing, looking as if she might fall asleep at any moment.
Ou Mingxuan propped his head with one hand, reclining sideways, his gaze focused on Qin Mengying as she told the story, displaying more enjoyment than even Luoluo.
The way she told the stories was exceptionally gentle, with expressions changing alongside the plot, her voice so soft, making one feel as if lying on a soft cotton cloud, supremely comfortable.
No wonder the little one insisted on hearing a story every night before sleeping.
