Looking at the pink apron, Fu Lanshen slightly furrowed his brows.
A man standing tall and upright wearing a little pink skirt—what was this all about?
Mu Qingli saw a deep disdain in Fu Lanshen's eyes, and she said with a smile, "Uncle Qi, just put it on, otherwise you'll dirty your clothes. It's only at home, and no one will see you."
"I don't want to," Fu Lanshen's thin lips parted slightly.
"Put it on, or shall I help you?" A cunning flash passed quickly through Mu Qingli's eyes. The more Fu Lanshen refused, the more curious she became about what he would look like in the pink apron.
Perhaps this was the rebelliousness of adolescence.
"I won't wear it," Fu Lanshen continued to refuse, "if it gets dirty, I'd simply change into another piece of clothing."
"Dirty it and just change? Uncle Qi, you're really wasting resources. Let me help you put it on," Mu Qingli tiptoed, reaching up to loop the apron strings over Fu Lanshen's head.