On the road from Zhenzhou to the Capital City.
Old Mrs. Chen sat in the carriage looking out, with the quiet Song Mingzhe in her arms.
A gust of wind blew by, carrying a fragrant scent of flowers.
Little Zhe slightly parted his lips, his large eyes fixated on the ever-changing scenery.
Yang Shuyin, afraid that Old Mrs. Chen might tire, reached out to take Zhe, but Zhe refused, hurriedly burying his little face in Old Mrs. Chen's embrace, as if that would stop others from taking him away.
"Just let Zhe stay here," Old Mrs. Chen smiled and said, "Having Zhe with me gives me something to do on this journey."
Yang Shuyin said, "Even though Zhe is little, holding him for too long can be tiring."
"Not tiring," said Old Mrs. Chen, holding Zhe's hand, "Not just now, even if Zhe grows one or two years older, I can still hold him."
Mrs. Gao beside them remarked, "It's strange, Zhe doesn't cause any fuss in aunt's arms. Not only Zhe, but all the village kids like her."
