Hearing Yan Xinxin's words, Mo Chuxi's steps involuntarily came to a halt.
His handsome brows furrowed slightly, and his heartbeat suddenly became inexplicably uneasy.
If Yan Chenxi were like any ordinary five-year-old with simple thoughts and understanding, he wouldn't worry much.
But this son—whether it was due to the strong genes he had inherited from Mo Chuxi, or because of the hardships he and Yan Xinxin had lived through over the past five years—seemed far too perceptive for his age.
In short, this son was far too mature in his thinking.
In his heart, he had harbored resentment toward his irresponsible "bad father."
"Xinxin found Xi's real father?"
There was no exaggerated surprise on Yan Chenxi's little handsome face; instead, he appeared composed.
Yan Xinxin bent down, placing both hands on her knees, her gentle gaze fixed on her son as she nodded solemnly.
"Yes, Xinxin found him. He is…"
"Xinxin, don't say it!"
