PREVIEW

... my son dressed neatly and sat by the window reading a book.

The morning light passed through the window paper and gently fell on him. His small back was straight and his face was serious. His inferior clothing could not stop him from being precious. It was the temperament radiated from the bones.

Qiao Wei suddenly curious about the father of the little guy, will it be so fascinating? Will he still be alive, a man with a cloud in the sky, do not know his own existence with the child ...

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* Ping’an means peace

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