Wei Zhao scanned the text at a glance and went over to the desk.
Rong Di perceptively moved over and busied himself with grinding ink.
Wei Zhao picked up the wolf hair brush and dabbed it with some ink. As soon as he wrote the first stroke, he frowned slightly and turned his head to switch to his left hand.
A female voice, full of insincere laughter, sounded in the room.
Wei Zhao paused.
"Why did you stop writing?"
Yu Tingwan: "Is it because I'm standing here, disturbing you, husband?"
She tugged at the corner of her mouth: "Then I truly deserve to die."
As the last word fell, the atmosphere in the room turned uncanny.
Rong Di: ???
He, a burly man, suddenly felt... scared!
The ink dripped down and spread over the paper. Wei Zhao took a clean sheet of rice paper again.
His explanation was pale and powerless: "No."
Yu Tingwan walked over, taking Rong Di's place, holding the ink stick with her fair fingers and circling it on the inkstone.
