Outside the window, Fu Yunhe's face lit up with a bright smile, fair as white jade.
With a soft smile, the gentleman looked at Ms. Nian Shutong.
Inside the house, Ms. Nian Shutong discovered another side of Fu Yunhe's beauty, realizing he wasn't just a sickly person.
Of course, this thought merely fluttered by. After teasing Fu Yunhe, she picked up her calligraphy work and approached the window,
"How does it look?"
Ms. Nian Shutong extended her arms, her pale white fingers holding the sides of the paper, and she angled it for Fu Yunhe to see clearly.
On the dazzling white paper, black calligraphy.
It penetrated the back of the paper, ancient and majestic.
Ms. Nian Shutong's characters had a style of their own, not adhering to any specific script, only showing primitive grandeur and force.
In each character, you could clearly see each stroke—horizontal was horizontal, vertical was vertical.
Fu Yunhe's mind was somewhat shaken, continually nodding in praise, "Exquisite."
