But Xibao wasn't willing. He turned over in bed, heaved and puffed trying to turn over but can't, his limbs tirelessly moving. Seeing his mother and that dark, ugly guy, all cuddly and chatty, he let out an unsatisfied cry and started wailing out loud.
Lu Jiang and Feng Qingxue immediately surrounded the bed, unable to hold back their laughter.
"All talk and no action, this little guy can really make it!" His plump face was clean, not even a single golden spot on it.
Feng Qingxue poked her son's chubby cheek, "Didn't you say that his godfather prepared a gift for him? There are so many things in your suitcase, which one is his?"
Lu Jiang remembered, "The little tank made out of bullet shells, that's it!"
It was a very poorly crafted little tank, but each bullet shell had its own story.
Lu Jiang took it out and placed it in front of his son. Little Fatty's eyes lit up, he lay on the bed staring at it, "Ah, ah, ah, ah," he babbled, reaching out to touch the barrel of the tank.