Xiao Song rushed into the delivery room, where the air was thick with the smell of blood.
He dashed to the side of the bed in two strides, looked at the pale Ran Yan, grabbed her hand, and said hoarsely, "Lady, you have worked hard."
Ran Yan, utterly drained, was still recovering and could only respond with a faint smile.
The midwife had just washed and wrapped the first born child in a soft blanket and handed him over to Xiao Song, "Marquis, behold, a healthy young master."
Within the plain swaddle, only a tiny head was exposed, pink and wrinkled, quite ugly. Xiao Song thought that this exposed head was even smaller than his fist. He had not seen other babies, but he felt that this child was really too small. However, considering that others had only one in their womb while they had three, it was normal to be a bit smaller. The midwife told him the child was healthy, which reassured him greatly. He unsteadily took the soft, warm bundle into his hands.
