Jingzi's small hands started feeling around again, searching for possible 'love letters.'
The woman in the Confucian robe hesitated to speak, looked at the sky, and sighed, "Stop messing around, there's no letter like you think. Time's almost up; I have to go give a make-up class to the students at Shuaixing Hall."
The blue-clothed girl mumbled, "Make-up class isn't urgent, let them wait. What's the use of last-minute cramming, hmph. Besides, they would love to have Teacher's class; how could they have any complaints… Yes, it's not the kind of letter I can imagine, but even mushier than I thought, right?"
"You… Jingzi, say one more word!"
Zhu Yourong rolled up the paper script in her hand, ready to knock Jingzi's head.
The little girl jumped back, eyes shining, and snatched the paper script from Zhu Yourong's hand.
"Hehe, hand it over. I've long felt something was off; there's definitely something fishy here!"
