When Ning Youguang returned to the teacherless study room after reheating the soup, she heard a conversation between a big and a small person.
Ning Youyu was scratching his head and cheeks, "Brother, I can't write this essay about the rain, today is obviously sunny."
Shi Wangyue sat beside him, propping his head up, his eyelids half-covered and looking lazy, "You could write, every time it rains outside, it reminds me of a poem from the ancients, 'Do not listen to the sounds of leaves being hit as rain threads through the forest...'"
Ning Youguang blinked wide-eyed, "Huh?"
Ning Youguang amusedly walked over and patted Shi Wangyue's tilted head, "If you teach the kid to write like that, won't his teacher be suspicious?"
